“Alleged mistress.” Aaron said the words as an afterthought as he scanned the room for Mrs. Craft and came up empty. He was just about to send Royal looking for her when the two men waiting by the elevator grabbed his attention.
They had matching military haircuts and dark suits, and neither spent a second checking out the party. They didn’t work at Craft. Aaron would put money on that. After the second death threat, he’d run a security check on all employees, past and present. He’d checked out the Elan staff, as well. Either these two slipped through the screening without Aaron noticing—and since one of the guys had shoulders wider than the elevator doors, Aaron doubted it—or they were uninvited. Neither option made Aaron happy.
He elbowed Royal. “Who are those two?”
Royal’s gaze followed Aaron’s nod. “Waitstaff?”
“Not anyone I checked in.”
“And not wearing the right uniform.” Royal’s gaze narrowed. “Why are they headed for the elevators when the food is in here?”
Royal’s shifting to attack mode was all the confirmation Aaron needed of impending trouble. The guy had pitch-perfect instincts thanks to years in and around the mountains of Afghanistan’s Kunar Province.
Aaron barked out orders to the rest of the team listening in on the earpieces. “We need help up here. Palmer?”
When Lowell’s head of security, Palmer Trask, didn’t check in, the emergency signal in Aaron’s brain flashed even brighter.
“The lack of a response can’t be good,” Royal said under his breath.
“We also need to find Craft’s wife.”
Royal whipped around, his gaze scanning the room. “She was just here.”
“Not now.” With her model-perfect figure and straight-out-of-a-magazine outfit, the woman stuck out in a crowd even while she hugged the corner of the room. But now Aaron had bigger problems. “I need two people in here. Report to Royal in the dining room. The rest hold the perimeter.”
“Do we need to shut the place down?”
Aaron turned to Royal. “Not yet. You stick to Lowell. He doesn’t breathe without falling over you.”
“Done.”
“I’ll take the stairs. Let me know where the elevator stops.” Aaron did one last visual sweep of the room, looking for other people who failed to trip his memory bank.
“Remember you have two guys to handle when you get up there,” Royal said.
Aaron sure as hell hoped the number was only two. “My worry is they are part of a bigger scheme.”
“If they are?”
Aaron patted his hip in a weapons check. “I’ll handle it.”
“Nothing new there.”
Chapter Two
Risa Peters clutched her portfolio to her chest and leaned back against the elevator wall. This was the first time she’d chosen a holiday party venue based on a throwaway recommendation during a dinner date with the lawyer she’d seen exactly twice. The same dinner date who failed to call after their last meal together. Since it was already Thursday, she figured the man was on the run, which was a shame because the chocolate-brown hair, blue-green eyes, all-American handsome type appealed to her.
So did the Elan Conference Center. She was only able to book it for an afternoon during the busy season because the place wasn’t truly open to the public yet. The center was in the middle of something called a soft opening. The official ribbon cutting would come in mid-January, after the holiday rush subsided. For a discounted fee and an agreement to forgo some party extravagances, Elan agreed to host the party on very little notice.
Risa doubted the office budget at Buchanan Engineering would support the place next year when the amenities hit their stride, but she could enjoy it now. The miles of rolling hills and the long winding drive up to the place sparkled even more in real life than they did on the website. So did the sprawling five-story building with the stone facade and the huge double-door, double-height entry.
It would all work so long as the weather held out. One flake of snow and next week’s party would turn into a driving hazard.
Not that any of this—the late planning, the distance or the weather—qualified as being her fault. Oh, no. She’d been the office manager at the engineering firm all of three weeks when she realized the woman who used to have the job, and now held the title of fired
former office manager, failed to reserve a place for the annual holiday get-together. Since the engineers liked to party, the oversight bordered on catastrophic. So Risa was here today to scout the center out, see the party room on the fourth floor, then sign the agreement and hand over a check.
If she survived this mess-up, pulled the party off and got all the engineers home without a drunken episode, she’d still have a job next week. And she sure needed the job. Without it she’d never pull herself out of the economic tailspin Paul had thrown her into.
When the elevator doors opened, she almost stepped out of the car. A quick glance at the glowing green number on the panel told her she’d only made it to the third floor. One more to go.
She stepped back just as a beefy hand reached into the open space and jammed the doors before they could close. Two guys with black jackets and broad shoulders slid inside the car. They hugged the front of the elevator, but the walls still closed in on her.
She knew the lights didn’t dim at their entry, but everything seemed darker, felt colder, than it had a second before. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the car as they’d moved in.
They didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak. But the way their combined bodies blocked any chance she might need of a quick exit had her nerves jumping around in her stomach.
She counted the seconds until the car moved again and stopped on the fourth floor. In her head she reached a thousand, but she guessed that was some sort of sick mind trick. Still, when the bell dinged, she shot between them, her hands shoving them apart.
“Excuse me,” she said over their surprised grunts.
Then she walked as fast as she could without breaking into an all-out run. A few fast steps and she turned the corner. With her back pressed against the wall, she listened for the two hulks to make sure they didn’t follow.
When silence echoed back at her, she inhaled. The sharp smell of paint assailed her nose. A quick glance told her she was alone on a newly constructed floor. Protective paper and painter’s tape still covered some of the doors.
“Great.” She sucked in as much of the tainted air as she could take in an effort to slow her hammering heart.
Only then did she feel the tiny jabs against her skin. She opened her palms, peeling her fingers away from the tight clench on the leather binder between her shaking hands.
She wasn’t the spook-easy type, having learned long ago that some of the most dangerous men in the world didn’t lead with their hands or fit into the Neanderthal body type. But she wasn’t stupid. Any smart woman would experience a choke of vulnerable panic being trapped alone with those two bruisers on an enclosed elevator.
She walked toward the restroom sign but stopped when she saw the note on the door. Out of Order. Use 5th Floor.
Her residual panic skittered away. Frustration took its place, shaking through her with the force of a runaway truck. It was bad enough the conference manager got stuck on a call and sent her up ahead. Now she had to wander around looking for a restroom.
She glanced at the elevator, then at the emergency stairwell to the left of the bathroom. She’d take her chances on the stairs this time. With terror fueling her steps and wearing a pantsuit and low heels, she could run if she had to. In an elevator, she’d have nowhere to go.
She hit the stairwell and let her pumps click against the cement steps as she traveled up a floor. A quick peek through the small slit where she opened the door showed nothing but a carpeted hallway with an abandoned industrial carpet shampooer against the wall. Most of the doors weren’t even on their hinges yet on this floor.
She waited for any sign of life, any noise. When the floor remained quiet, she snuck into the ladies’ restroom and let the door softly shut behind her on a swish.
With her palms flat against the fancy quartz sink, she stood still and let her breathing and heart rate dip back into normal range. As she pivoted for the stalls, the main door flew open. A blur dressed in black raced toward her. Before she could scream, hands clamped down on her arms and the figure shoved her hard against a stall door and back into the enclosed area. She only stopped when the back of her legs hit the toilet.
When her brain kicked back into gear, her arms and legs started moving. Her attacker’s hand settled over her mouth even as she shook her head to avoid him.
“Stop. I’m here to help.” The harsh whisper bounced off the tiles as the man crowded around her, though his focus was centered on the restroom door.
One more step and her back hit the far stall wall and her head came up. If the guy wanted to hurt her, he’d have to watch her as he did it…and be on the receiving end of the battle of a lifetime.
The air gathered in her lungs and then rushed out in a raging scream as she decided to go for his face. When he turned back to her, her next breath stalled and her brain cells sputtered to a halt. “Aaron?”
“Risa?” His fingers clenched against her skin one last time then his arms dropped to his sides. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a ladies’ restroom.”
“No, I mean…the building. This area. Why are you here?”
“You told me about this place when I said I needed a party venue. Why are you here?”
“This is unbelievable.” His mouth stayed open even after he stopped talking.
His shock was nothing compared to hers. No matter how hard she tried to blink, she couldn’t. She took in the same sexy eyes. Same dark brown hair he liked to smooth his hand through. A dark suit and a firm jaw.
But not everything about him looked familiar. She focused on the gun tucked into the holster at his waist. “Since when does a tax attorney carry a gun?”
He held up his hands. “Keep your voice down.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Not at all.” His voice barely carried over the soft hum from the heating vent above her head. “I can explain all of this.”
Fury blew over her with the force of a hurricane. “While you’re at it, maybe you can make up an excuse for why you didn’t call after our last date.”
“What?”
“You know, the dinner we had. The call you never made.” Her head buzzed with red-hot rage at the memory.
He finally clamped his jaw shut. “This isn’t the right time.”
“Oh, really?”
He winced the second before he glanced behind him again. “Look, I know this is awkward.”
“No kidding.” This time she did keep her voice down, but only because she was muttering.
“In my defense, I’ve been a little busy.” His mouth hovered over her ear as he spoke.
“Lying takes up a lot of your time, does it?” Now he had her whispering. And arguing in a bathroom stall on an empty floor of a not-yet-opened building.
The day just kept getting better and better.
“We can fight about this later, which I’m not looking forward to at all, by the way, but right now we have to—” He reached for her again.
“Since when are you so grabby?” She shrugged out of his grasp and then stopped when she spied the tiny lines of tension around his mouth. “What is it?”
“I need you to stay calm.”
“I’m not thirteen. I can take bad news.” She fought the urge to ruin her point by rolling her eyes.
“Then you won’t lose it when I tell you we have to hide.”
She tried to stop her eyes from blinking so fast. “I didn’t say that.”
* * *
A
NGIE
T
ROUTMAN STOOD
up from the empty table without bothering to scan the room. People were staring and whispering because that’s what these losers did. So much jealousy packed into one small room. The room pulsed with it. She was almost sorry she’d talked Lowell into wasting money on them. Their lack of gratitude choked out any chance of enjoying the party.
She scanned the unhappy faces for Palmer, official Craft security, but instead spied a member of the outside team hired to back up Palmer. Not that the backup team viewed itself as anything other than being in charge. She’d warned Lowell about the potential turf war and he’d ignored her, citing the death threats.
Men never listened.
She tried for eye contact with the random security guard nearby. She couldn’t remember his name. It was something odd, one of those names parents chose when they wanted to be clever but ultimately ended up dooming their children to snickers.
But the name didn’t matter. She had a bigger issue. Aaron McBain had been trouble since he’d walked through the Craft lobby doors and taken over without saying a word. Something about his presence demanded attention. He issued orders and people jumped.
Worse, bringing him on board added to the Craft hierarchy, a pyramid she’d already given up so much to climb. After only a few days in the building, McBain had showed up everywhere, making it nearly impossible for her to speak privately with Lowell when needed. And now, when she needed him to stay in one place and in clear sight, McBain had disappeared off the floor. Hardly the keen skills of a crack security expert promised by the lucrative contract he’d signed with Craft.
Since his assistant—whatever his name was—was talking to someone rather than looking at her, she poked him in the arm to get his attention. “What’s your name?”
His head turned toward her, his gaze bouncing down to her hand and then back to her face, but his frown never wavering. “It’s still Royal Jenkins, ma’am. Just like it was when you asked yesterday.”
She’d insist on his company firing him from this assignment if she had the power to do so, and by Monday she’d convince Lowell to give it to her. She’d see if this man’s voice still dripped with disdain when he was standing in front of her desk, begging for his job. “Well, Roy. We have a—”
“Royal.”
As if she had time for this holier-than-thou male nonsense. She let her fake smile fall. “Where is your boss?”
“Excuse me?”
“McBain. His job is to watch Mr. Craft.” She glanced to where Lowell last stood and froze when she saw him across the room, handing his wife a drink. With a quick mental shake, Angie returned to the crisis at hand.