An Inconvenient Affair

Not that he would let that affect his decision to stick by her. She needed him to get through this weekend, whether she knew it or not.

A flight attendant ducked to ask, “Could I get either of you a complimentary beverage? Wine? A mixed drink?”

Hillary’s smile froze, the lightheartedness fading from her face with the one simple request. The mention of alcohol stirred painful memories. “No, thank you.

Troy shook his head. “I’m good. Thanks.” He turned back to Hillary. “Are you sure you don’t want a glass of wine or something? A lot of folks drink to get over the fear.”

She inched away from the wall and sat upright self-consciously. “I don’t drink.”

“Ever?”

She refused to risk ending up like her mother, in and out of alcohol rehabs every other year while her father continued to hold out hope that this time, the program would stick. It never did.

There was nothing for her at home. D.C. was her chance at a real life. She couldn’t let anything risk ruining this opportunity. Not a drink. Not some charming guy, either.

“Never,” she answered. “I never drink.”

“There’s a story there.” He toyed with his platinum cuff links.

“There is.” And honest to God, the bay rum scent of him was intoxicating enough.

“But you’re not sharing.”

“Not with a total stranger.” She was an expert at keeping family secrets, of sweeping up the mess so they would look normal to the outside world. Planning high-profile galas for the D.C. elite was a piece of cake after keeping up appearances as a teenager.

She might look like a naive farm girl, but life had already done its fair share to leave her jaded. Which might be why she found herself questioning the ease of her past hour with Troy.

Nothing about him was what she’d expected once he’d first flashed that bad-boy grin in her direction. They’d spent the entire flight just … talking. They’d discussed favorite artists and foods. Found they both liked jazz music and hokey horror movies. He was surprisingly well-read, could quote Shakespeare and had a sharp sense of humor. There was interest in his eyes, but his words stayed light all the way to the start of the plane’s descent.

His eyes narrowed at her silence. “Is something wrong?”

“You’re not hitting on me,” she blurted out.

He blinked in surprise just once before that wicked slow smile spread across his face. “Do you want me to?”

“Actually, I’m having fun just like this.”

She sat back and waited for him to stop grinning when he realized she wasn’t coming on to him. Was she? She never went for this kind of guy, hair too long and a couple of tiny scars on his face like he was always getting into some kind of trouble. A line through one eyebrow. Another on his chin. And yet another on his forehead that played peekaboo when his hair shifted.

But then Barry had been Mr. Buttoned-Up, clean-cut and respectful. Except it had all been a cover for a deceitful nature.

Troy stared deeper into her eyes. “You don’t get to have fun often, do you?”

Who had time for fun? She’d worked hard these past three years building a new life for herself, far away from a gossipy small town that knew her as the daughter of a drunk mother. Barry had tarnished her reputation with his shady dealings—stealing scholarship money for God’s sake. And unless she proved otherwise, people would always think she was involved, as well. They wouldn’t trust her.

Her boss wouldn’t trust her.

She picked at the hem of her skirt. “Why would you say I’m a wet blanket?”

“Not a wet blanket. Just a workaholic. The portfolio under your seat is stuffed with official-looking papers, rather than a book or magazine. The chewed-down nails on your otherwise beautiful hands—sure shout stress.”

She’d tried balancing her career and a relationship. That hadn’t gone very well for her. Thank you very much, Barry, for being a white-collar crook—and not even all that good of an embezzler, given how easily he’d been caught. She’d been so busy with her job that she’d completely missed the signs that he’d been using her to get close to her clients—and sucker them in.

“Troy, I’m simply devoted to my career.” Which would be wrecked if she didn’t make sure everyone knew she was a hundred percent against what Barry had done. Her boss would fire her and no one else would hire her since the clients would never trust her. “Aren’t you?”

What exactly did he do in computers? She was just beginning to realize that they’d talked all about her and not so much about him and the flight was already almost over.

“Work rocks—as do vacations. So if you were taking this plane trip for pleasure, no work worries and you could pick up any connecting flight when we touch down—where would you go?”

“Overseas.” She answered fast before realizing that again, he’d turned the conversation away from himself.

“That’s a broad choice,” he said as the ground grew larger and larger, downtown Chicago coming into focus.

“I would close my eyes and pick, some place far away.” Far, far away from the Windy City gala.

“Ah, the old escape idea. I get that, totally. When I was in boarding school, I made plans for places to live and visit, places without fences.”

Boarding school? Interesting and so far removed from her childhood riding the ancient bus with cracked leather seats each morning with all the friends from her neighborhood.

She settled deeper into her seat. “Isn’t that the whole point of a vacation? To do something that is totally the opposite of your daily routine. Like open spaces being different from the walls of your old boarding school.”

“You have a point.” His smile went tight for a flash before his face cleared. “Where are you from originally—so I can get a sense of your daily routine when I’m choosing our great escape?”

Our? “Theoretically of course.”

“Theoretically? Nu-uh. You’re wrecking the fantasy.”

“Right, sorry about that.” His magnetism had a way of drawing her into this fantasy. No harm in that. “I’m from Vermont, a tiny town nobody’s heard of. Coming to D.C. was a big enough change for me—and now I’m going to Chicago.”

“But you don’t look happy about it.”

She forced herself not to flinch. He was too perceptive. Time to put some distance between them, let him show himself to be a jerk so she could move on. “I’m scared of flying, remember? And this is where you’re supposed to ask me for my phone number.”

“Would you give it to me if I did?”

“No,” she said, almost believing what she was saying. “I’m not in a good place to date anyone right now. So you can stop trying to charm me.”

“Can’t a guy be nice without wanting something other than engaging conversation?”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Did you really just say that?”

He slumped back in his seat, respect glinting in his eyes. “Okay, you’re right. I would like to ask for your phone number—because I am single, in case you were wondering—but since you’ve made it clear you’re not open to my advances, I’ll satisfy my broken heart and soothe my wounded ego with the pleasure of your company for a little while longer.”

God, he was good. Funny and charming, so confident he didn’t think twice about making a joke at his own expense. “Do you practice lines like that or are you just really good at improvisation?”

“You’re a smart woman. I’m confident you’ll figure it out.”

She liked him. Damn it. “You’re funny.”

“And you are enchanting. It was my pleasure to sit next to you on the flight.”

They’d landed? She looked around as if waking up from a nap to find more time had passed than she realized. Passengers were sliding from their seats. The aircraft had stopped.

Troy stood, hauling her simple black roll bag from the overhead. “Yours?”

“How did you know?”

He tapped the little dairy cow name tag attached to the handle. “Vermont. Highest cows to people ratio in the country.”

“Right you are.” She stood, stopping beside him. Close beside him. All the other passengers crowded the aisle until her breasts brushed his chest.

His rock-hard chest. That suit covered one hundred percent honed man, whipcord lean. The bay rum scent of him wrapping around her completely now, rather than just teasing—tempting—her senses.

But still, he didn’t touch her or hit on her or act in the least bit skeezy. “Have a great visit in the Windy City.”

She chewed her bottom lip, resisting the overwhelming urge to tug his silk tie.

The flight attendant spoke over the loudspeaker. “If you could please return to your seats. We have a slight delay before we can disembark at the gate.”

Hillary pulled away quickly, ducking into her seat so fast she almost hit her head. Troy reclaimed his seat slowly while the flight attendant opened the hatch. The yawning opening revealed the long metal stairs that had been rolled up outside. Confused, Hillary yanked up her window shade. They’d stopped just shy of the terminal. A large black SUV with some kind of official insignia on the door waited a few feet away. Two men wearing black suits and sunglasses jogged up the stairs and entered the plane.

The first one nodded to the flight attendant. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll be quick with our business.”

The identical duo angled sideways.

Her stomach tumbled over itself. Was there a problem? In spite of what she’d told Troy, she hadn’t been freaked out about flying, but now she felt that lie come back to bite her as fears fluttered inside her. How long before she knew what was wr—

Not long at all, apparently.

The dark-suited men stopped beside her row. “Troy Donavan?”

Troy Donavan?

Her stomach lurched faster than a major turbulence plunge. Oh God, she recognized that name. She waited for him to deny it … even though she already knew he wouldn’t.

“Yes, that’s me. Is there a problem, gentlemen?” Troy Donavan.

He’d confirmed it. He was far from a nice guy, far from some computer geek just passing time on a commuter flight. His reputation for partying hard and living on the edge made it into the social pages on a regular basis.

“Mr. Donavan, would you step out of your seat, please?”

Troy shot an apologetic look her way before he angled out to stand in front of the two men. “We could have met up at the gate like regular folks.”

The older man, the guy who seemed in charge, shook his head. “It’s better this way. We don’t want to keep Colonel Salvatore waiting.”

“Of course. Can’t inconvenience the colonel.” Muscles bunched in Troy’s arms, his hands fisting at his sides.

What the hell was going on?

The “men in black” retrieved Troy’s Italian leather briefcase and placed a streamlined linen fedora on his head, the same look that had been featured in countless articles. If she’d seen him in his signature hat, she would have recognized him in a heartbeat.

He was infamous in D.C. for having hacked the Department of Defense’s computer system seventeen years ago. She’d been all of ten at the time but he’d become an icon. From then on, any computer hacking was called “pulling a Donavan.” He’d made it into pop culture lexicons. He’d become a folk legend for the way he’d leaked information that exposed graft and weaknesses within the system. Some argued he’d merely stepped in where authorities and politicians should have. But there was no denying he’d broken major laws. If he’d been an adult, he would have spent his life in jail.

After a slap-on-the-wrist sentence in some military school, he’d been free to make billions and live out his life in a totally decadent swirl of travel and conspicuous consumption. And she’d fallen for his lying charm. She’d even liked him. She hadn’t learned a damn thing from Barry.

She bit her lip against the disappointment in herself. She was here to put the past behind her—not complicate her future. She pressed her back against the body of the plane, unable to get far enough away from the man who’d charmed the good sense right out of her.

Troy reached for his briefcase, but the younger man took a step back.

The older of the two men held out … handcuffs.

Cocking an eyebrow, Troy said, “Are these really needed?”

“I’m afraid they are.” Click. Click. “Troy Donavan, you’re under arrest.”

Two

“Were the handcuffs necessary?” Holding up his shackled hands, Troy sprawled in the backseat of the armored SUV as they powered away from the airport. The duo that had arrested him sat in the front. His mentor and former military school headmaster—Colonel John Salvatore—sat beside him with a smirk on his face.

As always, he wore a gray suit and red tie, no variation, same thing every day as if wearing a uniform even though he’d long ago left the army.

“Yes, Troy, actually they are required, as per the demands of the grand dame throwing this gala. She’s determined to have a bachelor auction like one she read about in a romance novel and she thought, given your checkered past, the handcuffs would generate buzz. And honest to God, the photos in the paper will only help your image, and therefore our purposes, as well.”

It was always about their purposes. Their agreement.

He’d struck a deal with Colonel Salvatore at twenty-one years old, once his official sentence was complete. Salvatore had been the headmaster of that military reform school—and more. Apparently he helped recruit freelancers for Interpol who could assist with difficult assignments—such as using Troy’s computer skills and later utilizing his access to high-power circles. Other graduates of the military school had been recruited, as well, people who could use their overprivileged existence to quickly move in high-profile circles. For these freelancers, no setup was needed for a cover story, a huge time and money saver for the government.

A person might be called on once. Or once a year. Maybe more. Salvatore offered things no one else in Troy’s life had ever given him. A real chance to atone.

He may not have felt guilty at fifteen, but over time he’d come to realize the repercussions of what he’d done were far-reaching. His big DOD computer exposé as a teen had inadvertently exposed two undercover operatives. And even though they hadn’t died, their careers had been cut short, their usefulness in the field ruined.

He should have taken his information to the authorities rather than giving it to the press. He’d been full of ego and the need to piss off his father. He knew better now, and had the opportunity to make up for what he’d cost the government and those two agents.

And yeah, he still enjoyed the rush of flying close to the flame while doing it.

Troy worked his hands inside the cuffs. “You could have waited. There was no need to freak out Hillary Wright. I would think you’d want her calm.”

Her horrified, disillusioned blue eyes were burned in his memory as deeply as the sound of her laugh and the genuine warmth of her smile.

Sighing, Salvatore swiped a hand over his closely shorn head. “If you’d been on the private jet like you were supposed to be none of this would have happened. Stop caring what Hillary Wright thinks of you. She’ll be out of your life by Monday. Your time will be your own soon enough and, with luck, I won’t need to call on you again for a long while.”

The years stretched ahead in monotony. His company all but ran itself now. The past eleven months since he’d been called upon had been boring as hell.

His mind zipped back to Hillary and how he would see her for the rest of the weekend—how she would see him. “A bachelor auction, huh? That grand dame can’t expect me to strut down some catwalk.”

“When did you start worrying about appearances?”

“When did you start using innocents like Hillary?” he snapped back, unsettled by the protective surge pumping through him. At least he would have a chance to explain to her some of what had happened on the plane. He could claim the event swore him to secrecy about the handcuffing gig, even if he wasn’t authorized to tell her about his role with Interpol. “I thought your gig was to, uh, collaborate with the fallen.”

“My ‘gig’ is to mentor people with potential. Always has been.”

“Mentor. Jailer.”

Salvatore smirked. “Someone’s grouchy.”

Troy rattled his cuffs as they drove deeper into the skyscraper-filled city. “Could you just take the cuffs off?”

He hated being confined and Salvatore knew that, damn it. Although looking at the cuffs now, other uses scrolled through his head, sexy fantasies of using them with Hillary. Maybe he would lock his wrist to hers, and take it from there.

“The mistress of ceremonies has the key.”

“You’re joking.” He had to be. “That’s hours away.”

“When have I ever had a sense of humor?”

“Valid point.” Troy’s hands fell in his lap. He might as well settle in for the scenic ride through downtown Chicago. He would be free, eventually, and then he would check on Hillary. For now, he was stuck with Salvatore.

The colonel was one eccentric dude.

Sure, Salvatore was the Interpol handler for the group of freelancers whose lifestyles gave them a speedy entrée into a high-profile circle when fast action was needed. But it must blow to be an overgrown babysitter for Troy at some shindig hosted by a local grand dame at a downtown hotel. Tonight’s gala kicked off a whole weekend of partying for the rich and famous, under the pretense of charity work.

And apparently Salvatore wasn’t just here for Troy, but helping the CIA by being here for Hillary, too.

“Colonel, I am curious, though, why do we need Hillary for this? How much does she know?”

The more Troy learned about her, the more of an edge he would have over her the next time he saw her.

“She’s here to identify contacts of her former boyfriend. And because we and the CIA need to be sure she’s truly as innocent as she seems.”

Was his protectiveness misplaced? Could he have so misread her? Either way, it didn’t dim how damn badly he wanted to peel her power suit off with his teeth. “This is really just to test her?”

The colonel waved aside Troy’s indignation. “Speaking of Hillary Wright. Your little stunt—switching from the private jet to her flight? Not cool. I had to cancel lunch with an ambassador to get here in time.”

“You’re breaking my heart.”

Sighing, Salvatore shook his head. “How the hell did you even get on that plane?”

“Really?” Troy cocked an eyebrow. “Do you even have to ask me, the guy who broke through the school’s supposedly impenetrable computer firewalls in order to hack your bank account and send flowers to the Latin teacher on your behalf?”

A laugh rumbled in the old guy’s chest. “As I recall, that trick didn’t go so well for you since she and I were quietly seeing each other and I’d already sent her flowers. She figured out fast who pulled that off.”

“But the flowers I chose were better—Casablanca lilies, if I recall.”

“And I learned from that. Same way you should accept you can learn from others once in a while.” Salvatore and the teacher had eventually married—and divorced. The man’s laughter faded into a scowl. “The internet is not your personal plaything.”

Troy held up his cuffed wrists. “These give me hives and flashbacks.”

Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because I’ll get the job done. I always do. I’ll find our mystery guy either in person or through the hotel’s security system. I will make sure this time that he doesn’t get away with hiding from the cameras. We will track his accounts and nail the bastard.” He’d only caught a glimpse of the guy once, a month ago shortly before they’d taken down Barry Curtis. If only they’d caught both men then … “But now, as far as I’m concerned, my job also includes making sure Hillary Wright stays safe in that pool of piranhas posing as scions of society.”

“As long as you don’t make a spectacle of yourself or her, I can live with that. Keep it low-key for once.”

“Okay, deal,” he agreed, perhaps a bit too quickly because Salvatore’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Time for a diversion. “One last thing, though.”

“You’re pushy today.”

“Look in my briefcase. I brought John Junior—” Salvatore’s only kid “—a copy of Alpha Realms IV. He’ll have a month’s head start mastering it before it hits the market.”

“Bribery’s a crime.” But Salvatore still reached for the Italian leather case. “What’s the favor?”

“It’s just a gift for your son from my software company. No strings attached.”

“What’s the favor?” he repeated.

“I don’t agree with your pulling Hillary Wright into this. She’s too naive and uninformed. After the party tonight, I want her sent home to D.C. Scrap keeping her around for the weekend.”

Troy would figure out a way to contact her in D.C., without all the hidden agenda crap. But make no mistake, he would see her again.

“She’s not so innocent if she was involved with Barry Curtis.” The colonel slid the video game into his black briefcase. “She’ll prove herself this weekend—or not.”

“Guilty of bad judgment, that’s all.” Troy was sure of that. What he didn’t know—something that bothered him even more—was if Hillary still had feelings for the creep.

God, why did he feel such a connection to a woman he’d only just met? Maybe because she possessed an innocence he’d never had.

“Are you so sure about her?” The leather seats creaked as Salvatore shifted back into place.

Troy was certain he couldn’t let her go into a ballroom full of crooks alone. “I’m sticking with her tonight and putting her on a plane in the morning.”

Salvatore patted his briefcase. “You should really keep me happy if you want me to put in a good word with your brother’s parole officer.”

Troy looked up sharply. Pulling in his brother was dirty pool, even for Salvatore.

“I’m not an enabler.” His brother, Devon, had more than a drug problem. He’d blown through his trust fund and had been sent to jail for dealing to feed his cocaine addiction. Troy forced himself to say blandly, “Do whatever you want with him.”

“Tough love or sibling rivalry?”

Anger pulsed—at Salvatore for jabbing at old wounds. “You’d better tell the driver to move this along so I can get out of these handcuffs before I have to take a leak. Otherwise you’ll have to help.”

“Bathroom humor is beneath you, Donavan.”

“I wasn’t joking.” He pinned Salvatore with an impassive look as the SUV stopped in front of the towering hotel.

Salvatore reached for the door handle as the driver opened Troy’s side. “Time to rock and roll.”

Standing in the elevator in the Chicago hotel, Hillary smoothed her sweaty palms down the length of her simple black dress. Strapless and floor length, it was her favorite. She’d brought it, along with her good luck charm clipped to her clutch purse, to bolster her and steady her nerves. It wasn’t working. Her hands went nervously to her hair, which was straight with a simple crystal clasp sweeping back one side.

She’d been nervous enough about this weekend from the moment she’d been asked to come to Chicago, but at least she’d had a plan. She’d thought she had her head on straight—and then she’d fallen right into flirting with a notorious guy seconds away from handcuffs. The experience had thrown her. Right now, she wasn’t sure of much of anything.

There’d been a time, as a little girl, when she’d dreamed of staying in a five-star hotel like this one, in a big city, with all the glitz included. As a kid, after she’d finished her chores on the dairy farm, she’d hidden in her room, away from her drunken mother. For hours and hours, Hillary had played on the internet, escaping into another world. Researching other places and other ways to live. Clean places. Pretty, even.

With tables full of food.

She’d spent a lot of time thinking about the cuisine, learning recipes, planning meals and parties to fill her solitary world. Even if only in her imagination.