Baby Battalion

Chapter Four

As they drove onto the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge, Tess was aware of the other vehicles, the heavy clouds and the dark waters of the Potomac. But she saw them all in a blur. She heard herself speaking but had no idea what she’d said.

Nolan’s eyes were a dark gray, more deep set than Joe’s but exactly the same color. Nolan’s left eye was a few centimeters lower than the right. He wasn’t perfectly handsome, wasn’t her darling husband. And yet, in those few seconds when she’d looked into the windows to his soul, she saw Joe Donovan.

“Tess? Are you all right?”

His raspy voice—unlike Joe’s clear baritone—called to her. She needed to respond. Didn’t want him to think she was a nutcase even though there was no other explanation. “Headache,” she said. “I have a little headache.”

He was immediately solicitous. “Should I take you home?”

“No.”

He drove past Foggy Bottom toward Georgetown University, the place where she and Joe had met. Whispers of the past tickled her ears, telling her that she’d found the love of her life. That could not be. Nolan wasn’t Joe. She couldn’t allow herself to confuse the two. Their eyes were similar. So what? Lots of men had gray eyes.

More firmly, she said, “I’m fine. My stomach will be fine.”

“I thought it was your head.”

“Whatever.”

Thankfully, they drove past the turnoff to the university. If he’d pulled up in front of the coffee shop where she and Joe had spent hours together when they were dating, she might have gone into full-blown fantasy mode, imagining herself as a wide-eyed college student who’d fallen madly in love with a handsome marine. That wasn’t her. Not anymore.

Tess had a new identity, a satisfying identity. First and foremost, she was Joey’s mom. Then, she was a business-woman who needed to show the man driving this slick Mercedes that she was responsible and merited referrals.

Swallowing her confusion, she pulled herself together. The smart thing would be to avoid any further interaction with Nolan. No sidelong glances. No flirting. Most definitely, she wouldn’t touch the man. Pretending calm, she asked, “Who is the person we’re meeting?”

“His name is Omar Harris. He’s a friend of Bart’s.”

“A spy?”

“CIA,” Nolan said. “He’ll arrange for our clearance so we can take a look at the blueprints for the museum.”

“Why did he need to see me?”

“Covering his bases. You’ll have to give him the name of your events coordinator at the Smithsonian.”

Though she wasn’t quite sure why she needed face time with this person, Tess didn’t ask for further explanation. A lot of the protocols in Washington were absurdly complicated.

Nolan found a parking place at the curb in a neighborhood of storefronts. The tree branches were lined with fairy lights that were lit even though it was daylight. The shop windows featured colorful Christmas decorations—snowflakes, tinsel and big red bows. A bell-ringer on the corner solicited contributions. Instead of waiting for him to come around and open her door, Tess climbed out quickly. She didn’t want to risk having Nolan take her hand to help her.

He stepped onto the sidewalk beside her. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” Avoiding eye contact, she glanced at her gold wristwatch. “I’m concerned about making it to my other meeting on time. It might be best if I catch a cab.”

“I’ll drive you. I insist.”

When he touched her elbow to guide her down the street, she flinched. He backed off, giving her plenty of space. Had she insulted him? She wanted to create the opposite effect, but she was scared. Given the choice between too close and too far, she opted for distance.

Halfway down the block, he opened the door to the Minuteman Café and held it for her. Inside, the decor was red-white-and-blue homey with half-curtains on the windows, a long counter, brown leatherette booths and a silver tinsel Christmas tree by the cash register. The lunch rush hadn’t started, and there were only a few patrons. Which of these men was the spy? Was it the silver-haired gentleman? The guy in the black trench coat?

Nolan went to a booth at the rear of the diner to greet Omar Harris. Dressed in sneakers, gray sweatpants and an insulated Georgetown hoodie, he looked like a jogger. His curly black hair was sprinkled with gray. His features were ordinary, which, she supposed, was a plus for a spy.

After Nolan introduced them, he slid into the booth, leaving room for her. She had no choice but to sit beside Nolan with their thighs only inches apart. Using her briefcase, she created a barrier between them.

Omar sipped from his coffee mug. “I recommend the Minuteman blueberry muffins.”

“None for me.” She’d had a big waffle and sausage breakfast with Joey. “How’s the coffee?”

“Passable.” Omar signaled to the waitress.

Nolan stretched his arm across the back of the booth, and she leaned forward to avoid making contact. Her neatly folded hands rested on the tabletop. “Is there any information you need from me, Mr. Harris?”

“I’ve already run a background check.”

Of course, he had. The CIA probably knew more about her than she knew herself. “Did you find anything interesting?”

Though his clothes were casual, his manner turned sharp. His dark eyes riveted on her in a piercing gaze. “Where are you sending your son to school?”

Taken aback, she sputtered, “What?”

“I have an eighteen-month-old. My wife and I are trying to decide where he should go to school. Any ideas?”

“You?” Nolan said. “I didn’t know you had a baby.”

Omar raked his fingers through his graying hair. “I know I’m a little old to be a first-time dad.”

“Second wife?” Nolan asked.

“Number three. The third time is a charm. I couldn’t be happier.” He turned back to her. “Any suggestions?”

“I love our neighborhood in Arlington,” she said. “When we bought our house, we checked into the public schools. I’m happy with that option.”

“You bought your home with your husband,” Nolan said. “Joe Donovan.”

“Yes.” Once again, Joe was front and center. She’d thought about him more in the past twenty-four hours than she had in the last month.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Omar said. “Your husband was a hero. If you don’t mind my asking, how did he come to know Bart Bellows?”

“I’m not sure. Bart never really explained. He showed up on my doorstep, took my hand and helped me through the most difficult time of my life. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have managed without him.”

“You never knew why,” Omar said.

She shook her head. “I know I’m not the only one he’s helped through a rough time.”

“That’s the truth,” Omar said. “Bart has dedicated his life and his wealth to helping veterans returning from war, giving them a jump start on a new life. That’s the idea behind Corps Security and Investigations. Right, Nolan?”

“CSaI is more than a job. We’re brothers.”

Though Tess didn’t know the backgrounds of the men who formed CSaI, Bart had spoken of the pain they’d suffered. She knew how proud he was of these veterans. Bart’s intense concern for others made his relationship with his son even more difficult to understand. Why was he estranged from Victor? Why hadn’t he been able to help his only child?

FIVE YEARS AGO, Nolan had faced the prospect of never seeing his wife or his child again. His enemies had been watching Tess and Joey. If they had any idea that Joe Donovan was still alive, his family would suffer the consequences. At the time, Nolan had thought there was no greater pain than separation. He’d been wrong. Today, spending time with Tess, was sheer torture.

When she’d looked into his eyes and then turned away in disgust, a molten dagger sliced into his gut. He was ashamed of what he had become. His scars made him grotesque—unworthy of her. Beauty and the beast was a damn fairy tale. In real life, the pretty people stuck together while monsters like him hid in the shadows.

On the street, when he’d touched her elbow, she had cringed. In the café, she’d used her briefcase to build a wall between them. Though she’d tried to be polite, it had been pretty damned clear that she wanted nothing to do with him.

The rejection seared his soul, burning away the thick protective shields he used to keep his distance from anyone who tried to get too close. He must never let Tess know that Nolan Law was, in fact, her beloved Joe. It was better for her to remember him with fondness than to face the god-awful truth.

Meeting his son was bound to open an even deeper wound. Kids weren’t hampered by manners; they pointed at him and hid their faces in their mother’s skirts. In the early days before his burns and facial reconstruction had healed, Nolan couldn’t stand being out in public. His appearance was better now. After more surgeries than he could count, he looked almost normal. But not normal enough; his face was still distorted enough to drive Tess away from him.

What the hell had he expected? That she’d take one look at him and leap into his arms? No such happy ending was possible for him.

Though he wanted to run from her and hide himself in a dark cave where he could lick his wounds, solitude wasn’t the answer. The minute Jessop mentioned Greenaway, Nolan knew the threat had returned. He had to put aside his feelings and dedicate himself to protecting her and Joey.

The main reason he’d wanted Tess to meet Omar was so that he could gauge the other man’s reaction to the mention of Joe Donovan. Nobody, except for Bart, knew that Nolan was Joe. Keeping his identity and the fact that he’d survived was vital to the safety of his wife and child.

Omar had passed the test. Though the longtime CIA operative had been trained to conceal his reactions, Nolan’s perceptions were razor sharp. He had sensed no interest from Omar in Joe Donovan.

Nolan wished he hadn’t promised to escort Tess to her next meeting. He was anxious for this misery to end, and it took every tattered shred of his self-control to behave in the cool, collected manner that befitted a marine. Remaining civil was killing him by inches. Combat would have been easier.

After they left the café and were back in the Mercedes, he tried to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Tell me about the people we’re going to see.”

“The Zamir family,” she said, “is filthy rich and socially connected at the highest level. The three daughters are always dressed head-to-toe in designer fashion, even the fourteen-year-old. The father has a diplomatic post in the Royal Saudi Embassy, but I don’t think it’s a real job. Just a title.”

Nolan trusted her instincts. He always had. “Why do you think he’s lying?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s a lie. Mr. Zamir’s connection to the embassy is a convenience while he’s handling his other business.”

Keeping his focus on the traffic around them, he stole a glance at her. Her shoulder-length black hair fell forward, obscuring his view of her lovely face. Her slender fingers laced in her lap, and he noticed that she still wore her platinum wedding band. She’d moved it from her left hand to her right, but it was still there. She hadn’t forgotten him.

He cleared his throat. “What’s Zamir’s real business?”

“I have no idea. This town is so full of intrigue that the truth is little more than a rumor.”

He didn’t like the idea of Tess being swept up in one of these intrigues. “How did you meet these clients?”

“You have a lot of questions.”

“I’m an investigator,” he said. “Did you meet the Zamirs through Bart?”

“A lot of my clients were referrals from Bart, but I met the Zamir family a long time ago when I was catering. They use high-profile event planners most of the time, but I’m the one they call for last-minute things. Like this dinner for ten in January.”

Though her explanation was plausible, he couldn’t help having suspicions. Bart’s kidnapping had opened the door to long-buried dangers. “It’s not a problem if I accompany you inside, is it?”

“Well, I don’t usually travel with a bodyguard, but I’ll introduce you as a friend. You’re not going to believe the inside of their house.”

“Why is that?” He glanced toward her again. Though she wasn’t looking at him, she was grinning.

“The Zamirs have tons of stuff. All of it glitters. Their decor is incredibly ornate—gold-leaf furniture, polished brass vases and crystal chandeliers.”

“Snazzy.”

He heard her gasp, and he knew he’d used the wrong word. Whenever she described something that was over-the-top, she called it snazzy.

“You’re right.” Her voice was breathless. “Snazzy is exactly what I would say.”

He cursed himself for being careless. An apology would only make it worse. He drove in silence. The air inside the Mercedes clouded with suppressed emotion. There was so much he wanted and needed to say. Even if he tried to explain, he didn’t know where to start.

The GPS navigator in the Mercedes had directed him into an upscale, exclusive neighborhood. “We’re getting close,” he said.

She reached over and rested her arm on his shoulder. “Would you pull over? Just for a moment.”

Her touch suffused him with a warm glow. Clearly, she had no idea of the effect she had on him. Tess had always been unaware of her own beauty.

As he parked at the curb, he steeled himself. “What is it, Tess?”

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.” When she frowned, her eyebrows crinkled. “I want to apologize.”

He knew she was trying to be polite. Though her reaction to his ugliness was natural, she didn’t want to offend. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

“Let me explain, please. I’m not usually so tongue-tied and clumsy. My event-planning business is largely based on my ability to get along with people, and I’ve got to clear the air.” She stared into his sunglasses. “I know this is a cliché, but it’s not you. It’s me.”

“Okay.”

“You remind me of someone,” she said, “someone who was very dear to me. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t look like him. And your tone of voice is different. But there’s…a certain something. Being with you is bringing back a whole lot of memories that are…inappropriate.”

He couldn’t believe what she was saying. She’d recognized him. In spite of everything, she had known in her heart that he was her husband. By God, he loved this woman.

“It’s all right, Tess. I understand.”

“How could you?”

“I’ve lost someone, too.”

And he would find a way to win her back.

Chapter Five

Inside the Zamir mansion, Nolan was glad to be wearing his dark glasses. Tess’s description of the garish, snazzy decor had been accurate. She had, however, failed to mention the several mirrors and reflective surfaces. As always, Nolan avoided looking at himself. He focused instead on Tess as she approached the lady of the house and a stunning young woman who had to be her daughter. All three ladies were slim with black hair, but that was where the similarity ended. Both Zamirs were olive-skinned with dramatic makeup and strong features. Tess had a porcelain complexion with pink roses in her cheeks. Her bright blue eyes with naturally thick lashes needed very little makeup.

After Tess introduced him, they went down the hallway to a long, polished table under two sparkly chandeliers. Green chai tea that reminded him of Afghanistan was served in tiny, ornate china cups. He halfway listened as the women discussed the small dinner party that would be taking place in a few weeks.

Their meeting gave every appearance of an everyday transaction for an event planner, but Nolan sensed an undercurrent. Did the Zamirs have something to hide?

He inserted himself into the conversation. “Your home is beautiful, Mrs. Zamir. You have elegant taste.”

“Thank you.” Her full lips parted in a smile. “My daughter thinks I should scale back. She likes the plain, boring modern style.”

“Just for myself,” said the younger woman who was dressed in a snug turquoise top with silver embroidery at the plunging neckline. “Glitz suits you, Mama.”

Nolan said, “Tess mentioned that you met her when she was a caterer.”

“Her orange truffles brought us together,” Mrs. Zamir said. “My husband tasted those chocolates at a dinner he attended and asked me to try Tess. I have never been disappointed.”

Nolan’s suspicions deepened. The husband had arranged the contact with Tess. Her shift from catering to event planning was six months after Joey was born—a time that coincided with speculation that Joe Donovan might still be alive. He had to wonder if the Zamirs were using Tess because of her friendship with Bart.

A tall man entered from the kitchen. He was dressed from head to toe in black, making him look even thinner than he was. Mrs. Zamir introduced him as her husband’s nephew, Ben. When they shook hands, Nolan sized him up. A handshake could be a useful measure of character. Some men turned it into a macho test of strength. Others pumped nervously.

Nephew Ben’s handshake was like the sting of a scorpion—quick and lethal. His upper lip curled in a sneer as he asked, “What is your occupation?”

Nolan guessed that Ben already knew who he was. To lie would make him appear suspicious. “I’m in town to provide security for Governor Lockhart of Texas.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Zamir. “There are those who want the governor to run for president. Why are you with Tess?”

“I’m planning the governor’s Christmas Eve party at the Smithsonian,” Tess explained. “Nolan and I have been working out some of the details.”

Mrs. Zamir and her daughter reacted with squeals of excitement. Private events at the Smithsonian were a big deal, and they were delighted to be using an event planner who was part of such a prestigious event.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” the daughter said, “how were you selected? Are you friends with the Lockharts?”

“It was a referral,” Tess said. “Do you know Bart Bellows?”

Behind his dark glasses, Nolan kept a watchful eye on the nephew. At the mention of Bart’s name, a muscle in his jaw twitched. In the depths of his dark eyes was a glimmer of hatred. “Corps Security and Investigations,” Ben said. “That’s the company founded by Bellows.”

“Correct,” Nolan said. “He’s my boss.”

Less than two minutes later, Ben excused himself and left the room. Nolan wanted to follow him, to see who he was reporting to, but he assumed there was surveillance inside this mansion and didn’t want to behave in a manner that would draw further attention to himself. So, he settled back in his chair and stayed with the ladies.

As the women analyzed every detail of the upcoming dinner party, he tuned out. There was only so much discussion of food and cutlery that he could take. Did it really matter if the orchid table decorations were mauve or magenta? Was asparagus in season? Which vintage wine was the best?

His gaze rested on Tess. She was animated, engaging, charming. Her head tilted to the right when she listened. Tiny dimples appeared in her cheeks when she chuckled. Her laughter enchanted him, and he remembered going to great lengths to amuse her. He’d told jokes and surprised her with silly presents. In the early days of their lovemaking, he’d bought a pack of neon condoms so they could play hide-and-seek in the dark.

In the bedroom. Remembering her in his bed was a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Tess stretched out on the cream-colored sheets with one hand tangled in her silky black hair and her other arm reaching toward him. She had an exotic floral scent that reminded him of jasmine. He remembered the graceful curve of her hips, her tiny waist and her perfect breasts that she thought were too small. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

And he had to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t afford distractions. Not when there was the potential for danger in this very house.

He rose from the table and asked for directions to the restroom. Back to the foyer and down the hall to the right, it was the first door. He walked slowly, getting his bearings. The foyer was two stories tall with beveled glass windows on each side of the double front door. To his right was a curving staircase with marble banister and a toga-draped goddess statue standing where the newel post should have been.

From the gallery above his head, Nolan overheard a conversation, male voices speaking Arabic. He was familiar enough with the language to catch the gist of what they were saying. They were talking about Bart. One man said that Bart Bellows had vanished and speculated that he might be in hiding. The other—who sounded like nephew Ben—mentioned the presence of CSaI operatives. He said that Nolan was Bellow’s ghul, referring to a monster from Arabian folklore, a ghoul.

Nolan liked the characterization. A ghul should be feared. And a ghul sure as hell wasn’t the handsome Joe Donovan.

The men were walking on the open galley above his head, moving out of earshot. The last thing he heard clearly was a mention of Wes Bradley—the alias that Bart’s son had been using for years. Wes Bradley had warned them, had told them that Bart wanted to disrupt their plans.

Nolan’s suspicions were confirmed. The Zamir family had contacted Tess because of her friendship with Bart. She was being drawn into a web of danger.

His first instinct was to protect her. But how could he become her bodyguard without telling her how and why she was in danger? He wouldn’t lie to Tess, but he wasn’t ready to reveal his identity.

In the ornate bathroom with gold faucets, embroidered towels and gold cherub soap dishes, he took out his cell phone. Initially, the plan had been for him and Harlan to coordinate the security for Governor Lockhart while continuing the search for Bart. More backup was necessary. Nolan needed to call the CSaI office in Freedom, Texas, and get the rest of the men up here ASAP.

He wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get from this bathroom tucked inside a mansion, but he was confident that no one could read his signal. Bart had provided him with an untraceable cell phone.

His call was answered on the first ring by Amelia Bond, who started with an accusation. “Nolan, you haven’t checked in at the hotel yet.”

“Is that a problem? Are you getting some kind of discount or something?”

“Discount? I think not. This is a five-star establishment with a helipad on top. And you’ve got a suite, buddy boy. I arranged for early arrival. They were expecting you.”

“So what? It’s a hotel. I’ll be there.” He’d been too anxious to see Tess to check in at the hotel. As soon as he’d picked up his rental, he’d gone directly to her office. “Nice job on the rental. I like a Mercedes.”

“I promise not to tell anybody about your champagne taste. It’s not good for your tough guy image.”

He heard the smirk in her voice and imagined her pushing her glasses up on her nose. Amelia was more than a receptionist or office assistant. In her unassuming but caustic way, she ran things at CSaI.

“Make travel arrangements,” he said. “I want everybody up here.”

“Not Nick Cavanaugh. He needs to be with Grace while her son is recovering from the bone marrow operation.”

“Cavanaugh should stay, of course. Family comes first.” More than ever before, he felt the truth of that statement.

“And I’m not scheduling anything until you tell me what’s going on.”

Nolan glanced toward the closed door to the bathroom. Though he was certain no one could hear him, he lowered his voice. “Our intel from Jessop is confirmed. Something’s going down, and Bart is in the middle of it. I need man power.”

“O-o-o-kay.” She drawled the word. “It sounds like you’re getting ready to storm the castle. How can I help?”

“We need to locate Victor Bellows or Wes Bradley or whatever he’s calling himself.” He remembered something Tess had said about the father-son relationship. “We need research on Victor’s background, his childhood and teen years. Who were his friends? His teachers? His doctors? Who influenced his life? I want to know why he and Bart were estranged.”