Coulter’s Secret (Tactical Operations #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Los Angeles, California

Alex Webb stood alone in one corner of the upscale gallery’s main exhibit space, sipping from her glass of complementary champagne. Walls of deep crimson surrounded her on all sides, while gorgeously stained, basketweave parquet flooring kissed the soles of her red-bottomed heels.

Butterflies danced with her wild and unruly nerves as she scanned the many faces filling the large, open room. Disappointment struck when the one man she’d traveled across the country to see was still nowhere to be found.

He’s here, somewhere. You just need to be patient.

She took another sip.

Apparently her inner voice failed to remember patience wasn’t exactly Alex’s strong suit. Especially when the next stage of her career could very-well hinge on the conversation she was hoping to have.

Gordan Crawford was one of the most recognizable names in her world, and the guy’s word was as golden as Midas’ touch. Whether it be contemporary, abstract, modern, or one of the other countless styles of art, it didn’t matter. What Gordan wanted for his world-famous gallery, he got.

Those lucky enough to be chosen as one of his showcased artists were all but guaranteed to become a resounding, overnight success. Hence, the decision to book a last-minute flight from Charlotte to L.A.

It was a no-brainer, really. The unexpected invitation to tonight’s event had been impossible to resist. All she had to do now was find the man of the hour and somehow convince him that at least one of her paintings was worthy of a hook on his walls.

Gee, is that all?

“Hors d'oeuvres?”

Alex abandoned the designer-labeled crowd to face a young woman holding a tray of various, bite-sized goodies. “I’m fine but thank you.” She sent the pretty blonde a quick smile.

With a polite nod and a timid grin, the server moved on to a small group gathered around a nearby sculpture. The little black dress she wore fit her youthful figure like a glove.

A very tight, very skimpy glove a girl her age should not be wearing.

Alex looked away, suddenly feeling far older than her thirty-four years.

This was Los Angeles. Skimpy dresses and beautiful young servers were probably par for the course. Besides, she wasn’t here to critique the catering staff’s uniforms. She was here for other reasons.

Two minutes.

That was all she needed. Two minutes of Gordan Crawford’s time.

It was a long shot, given the man’s elevated status. But just the week before, Alex had thought the same about meeting the legend himself.

Now here she was, standing in his gallery and drinking champagne that probably cost more than her high-priced shoes. And since he’d personally asked her to attend his party . . .

Gordan wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want you here.

She drew in a deep breath, taking another sizeable swallow of bubbly in an attempt to calm her nerves. She glanced through the sea of other artists in attendance. None were known to her before tonight, but a few had introduced themselves when she first arrived.

Rich. Beautiful. Obvious pretention they’d attempted to hide so cleverly in their so-called friendly smiles. A simple glance her way from over their turned-up noses was all it took to send Alex’s insecurities into a frenzy.

Imposter syndrome was a nagging bitch who couldn’t seem to wait to make her appearance. Mostly on nights like tonight. Important moments when Alex needed to be at her best.

And she would be, for a while.

Until later, when the uncertainty of her worth would set in. Take now, for example. She was in a corner of Gordan’s gallery, and she was standing alone.

It was clear from the start that many of the other guests knew each other before tonight’s event. She’d watched them closely, noticing the way they perused the gorgeous space as if they, themselves, owned the place.

You have just as much right to be here as they do.

Alex had been telling herself that very same thing from the moment she’d first walked through the door.

Oh, on the outside, it probably looked as if she were filled to the rim with bursting confidence.

But what they couldn’t see, what she worked damn hard to conceal from everyone around her, was that on the inside she felt like a total fraud.

“Excuse me.” An older gentleman smiled her way as he slowly walked past.

Returning the gesture, she met his gaze with a small grin of her own. His aged eyes lingered a bit too long for her comfort, and Alex released a breath of relief when someone else called out the man’s name.

“William, come look at this one, darling.” A woman with streaks of silver in her long, otherwise dark hair motioned for him to join her.

The man she assumed was named William sent Alex a parting glance before moving across the room to where he’d been summoned.

With her view no longer blocked by a guy old enough to be her grandfather, Alex continued her visual search for their host. On her far left, she found the same faces she’d seen before, but when her gaze slid further to the right, her entire body froze.

No. It’s not possible.

The steady hum of conversation swallowed her sharply inhaled gasp. She looked away quickly, closing her eyes and giving her head a slight shake in hopes of erasing what was obviously a figment of her wild imagination.

Only he wasn’t, because, when she looked back to the man in question, his ruggedly handsome features were even clearer than before.

Coulter Morgan.

Tall. Dark. Sinfully fit with blue eyes that sent her heart racing.

Coulter was Colt to his family and friends, though technically Alex was neither. Her sister, Avery, however, was married to Colt’s older brother, Garrett.

Now, him . . . I like.

Garrett was smart, funny, handsome, and sweet. Most importantly, he was head-over-heels in love with Avery. It also didn’t hurt that, along with the other members of Tac-Ops, Alex’s brother-in-law had been instrumental in saving Avery’s life.

Tac-Ops—short for Tactical Operations—was Garrett’s elite hostage rescue team. They traveled all over the globe to help those in dire need of being saved. Colt, on the other hand, was a wildcard whose fly-by-night attitude drove her positively insane.

Immature didn’t even begin to describe him, and for the past two years, it seemed as if Colt’s entire life mission was to become the bane of Alex’s existence. Well goal achieved because the man drove her crazy at every turn.

That’s only because you liiiike him.

No, she didn’t. Not unless “liking” him meant possessing the chronic urge to punch the jerk in his perfectly straight nose.

Whatever. You want nothing more than to tear off all his clothes, one torturous piece at a time.

Alex took another small sip, refusing to continue the ridiculous argument with her own subconscious.

Colt was a thorn in her side and had been from the very moment his brother had married her sister.

But if she were being honest—which she most certainly was not—the Bradley Cooper look-alike was also drop-dead freaking gorgeous.

Especially tonight.

Especially in that tux.

Black. Designer. Tailored to fit his masculine form with mouthwatering perfection.

The guy practically screamed poster boy for suit porn as he stood near a tall, white pillar across the room. His pretty eyes scanned the crowd as another scantily clad server approached him, sending the man’s kissable lips into a smile.

It was killer, no doubt. A smile Alex both hated and loved to see. She watched those same lips form a polite “thank you” before he reached for one of the offered flutes.

The young woman moved on to the next group of guests gathered a few feet away. Colt’s gaze followed, trailing the girl’s every move.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Alex squeezed the glass in her hand with such force it was a wonder the damn thing didn’t break. Before even realizing her feet were moving, she was marching across the expansive space.

It wasn’t jealousy pushing her forward. The very notion was so ridiculous she nearly laughed.

The perpetual playboy could ogle the entire catering staff, for all she cared. Just not here and most definitely not tonight.

This was too important, and she refused to let Colt or anyone else embarrass her in front of Gordan Crawford or his influential friends. Speaking of—

The others she passed barely paid her any attention. As she closed in on her target, Alex forced herself to take several long, calming breaths.

She could do this. She’d say hi, ask how he was, and then politely ask him to leave. But so help her, if he didn’t—

Play nice, Al, and remember. You’ll always catch more flies with honey.

Alex sucked in another breath. Her sister’s sweet voice filled her head as the attempted sounding board for reason. It was always like that. Ever since they were kids, despite Alex being the older of the two.

Avery was the responsible one. More practical and reserved than Alex’s naturally free spirit. And despite Colt’s many, many flaws, Avery loved the moron to pieces.

So she’d be nice. For her sister’s sake only, of course. Because flies to honey, and all that. But as soon as he was within earshot, she blurted—

“Little young for you, isn’t she, Colt?”

The sarcastic quip was out of her mouth before she could even think to stop it.

Sorry, Aves. Guess we’re going with the vinegar approach, instead.

Colt’s spine became visibly stiff before he turned those ocean blue eyes her way.

“Alex?” His dark brows rose high in a look of surprise before dropping low with obvious confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His gruff tone took her aback, the harshness there even more unexpected than the man’s very presence.

Alex blinked and then, “Wow. Good to see you, too. And I was about to ask you the same thing, actually. Because, well . . . the thing is . . . I’m an artist.”

Her point should have been clear, but Colt’s expression turned clueless with a short shake of his head.

“So?”

“So it makes sense for me to be at an art gallery. But you—"

“You have to leave,” he growled. “Now.”

The sting from his angered tone sent her into a physical recoil.

“Excuse me?” Alex frowned.

Colt’s intense stare left hers to scan the crowd again. “I mean it, Alex. This place . . . You don’t want anything to do with these people. Trust me on this.”

His focus returned to her, the expression on his handsome face more serious than she’d ever seen it before. And that made absolutely no sense, because the Colt she knew never took anything seriously.

Not ever.

“Okay, first of all,” she began again. “I’m not sure how you got invited to tonight’s showing, but I was given a personal invitation by the gallery owner himself, so—”

“Gordan Crawford personally asked you to come here tonight?”

The astonishment in his interrupting rumble immediately put Alex on the defensive.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised. I do own my own successful gallery, you know?

Albeit on a much smaller scale than this one, but yes.

Mr. Crawford stumbled upon my place last week while he was in Charlotte on business.

Apparently he liked what he saw because he gave me an invitation to tonight’s party on the spot. ”

Rather than being impressed, as she would have expected, every muscle in Colt’s six-three frame seemed to grow even more tense. His gorgeous stare turned to ice as he leaned in closer and his voice lowered to a hush.

“Alex, listen to me. I promise I’ll explain everything later, but right now, I need you to—”

“Mr. Morris!”

A booming voice pulled their attention from each other to Alex’s left.

It’s him! It’s Gordan Crawford!

And he was headed their way.

Her pulse spiked when she saw the billionaire weaving himself through the crowd. The wealthy businessman stopped several feet away when another guest stepped into his path.

Alex watched as Gordan smiled and the two men shook hands as if they were old friends. Hope flourished when an idea began to form in her head.

Whoever Mr. Morris was, he was going to have to wait. This was her chance, and she’d wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass. As soon as he got closer to her, she was going to pounce.

Figuratively, of course.

If I can convince him to hang even just one of my pieces within these infamous walls . . .

The potential exposure her name and work would receive from that honor alone was worth putting her fears aside to seize her day. But her wistful thought was almost immediately interrupted by a low, under-the breath curse.

Colt spun his head back around, his stare almost frantic as it burned into hers. “I promise, I’ll explain everything later, but for the sake of both our lives, I need you to play along.”

“Play along?” Alex frowned. “With what?”

And what was that other thing he’d just said? Something about both their lives?

Rather than responding to the questions she’d asked aloud, the confounding man was silent as he took the near-empty glass from her hand. He turned and set it and his own down onto a pedestal table nearby. And then, without a word, Colt brought his hands to her face.

He cupped her cheeks in a gentle but firm hold. Alex flinched, too stunned by the unexpected move to fully pull herself away.

“Colt, what are you—”

“For the rest of tonight, my name is Cole Morris.” He brought his mouth closer to hers. “And I’m not your sister’s brother-in-law. I’m . . . your date.”

“You’re my what?” She felt her eyes grow wide as saucers.

“Here he comes.” Colt’s lips were almost touching hers now. “I’m serious, Alex. If you blow my cover, we’ll both wind up dead.”

Dead?

“Your cover?”

She attempted to look back from over her shoulder in search of an explanation to the man’s cryptic ramblings. But Colt’s gentle hold remained steady, preventing her from looking anywhere but straight into his eyes.

“Please, Alexandria,” he whispered her formal name. “Do us both a giant favor and just play along.”

He never called her Alexandria. It was always Alex. Always. And Coulter Morgan never, ever begged.

Please, Alexandria.

A flash of something passing over the pleading man’s gaze was the only warning she had. With her very next breath, Colt’s mouth was on hers. He was kissing her, and after a moment of shock and hesitation—

Alex found herself kissing him right back.