THREE
Con led Sophie to a vast room filled with only a hard wooden bench and some metal chairs. Against the backdrop of ornate moldings and a high ceiling showcasing what was most likely an original art deco chandelier, the furniture looked harsh and out of place.
“Make yourself comfortable.”
She swung toward Con, feeling incredulity spread across her face. “Comfortable? Here?”
“You know what I mean. I need to make some phone calls and get my orders. Just wait for me here.”
She nodded and crossed the marble tile floor to the bench. As she sank to the wooden seat, Con performed a rigid about-face and walked out.
Sophie gathered her scattered thoughts. The conversation over dinner had jarred her. This wasn’t a life she knew much about. She went to bed early most nights just so she could delve into her book of the week. And she got up early to drink coffee and watch the sunrise. Her life was mapped out in blocks of time separated into routine and work.
These people were military. Didn’t they thrive on order? Yet this operation she’d been dragged into didn’t seem to follow that protocol. One minute she was looking at the cryptogram, the next she was watching muscled men gorge on tacos and dance to popular tunes around a high-end kitchen fitted with appliances worth tens of thousands of dollars.
On the bright side, military men were much more easygoing. They didn’t approach her with the snobbery that her Ivy League colleagues did.
Or were anything like her ex-husband.
They’d all been very nice and accommodating to her, fetching her drinks and offering more tacos even after she was full.
Minutes ticked by. She wiggled toward the end of the bench to lean on the wooden armrest. This day seemed to be never-ending. Right now, she’d be at home, performing the simple chores that kept her life orderly, and getting ready to slip on her nightgown and crawl between the covers for some reading.
She thought of the books she’d shoved into her bag. Of course a man like Con picked up that she’d packed books. He probably thought she was pathetic.
But she always came prepared with something to read in her handbag in case she got a few minutes to escape into another realm. Her inner bibliophile geeked out for a minute remembering those bookcases in Con’s office. She could easily stuff them from floor to ceiling with what she had stowed in crates, closets and bookshelves at home.
Her backside was beginning to go numb from the hard bench when the door opened and Con walked in.
He carried a file folder and walked stiffly, as if he’d been stuck on a bench for most of an hour.
She popped to her feet. “What did you find out?”
“We can’t get the suspect back into the country. I was right—we need to go to him.”
“Mason said something about a fake ID?”
His stare fixed on her face for a beat too long. Then another.
When the third second throbbed by, worry tickled at her insides. She searched his face. “What aren’t you saying?”
Pushed into action, he opened the folder and withdrew a sheet of paper. A name was printed at the top, with a description below it. A quick skim of the contents made her heart thump.
“This is my alias?”
He nodded.
“Sydney Edgars.”
He nodded again. “Same initials as yours. One rule of lying is keeping the lie as close to the truth as possible.”
She gulped and read over the fake details of her life. Grew up in Michigan. Parents had a carpet cleaning business.
Then she saw the age.
“Thirty-six? How old you do you think I am?” She tried to keep the edge of outrage from her tone, but he heard it. His lips twitched in amusement, and he quickly compressed them.
“I know you’re younger than that, Sophie. This is just to pass you off under another identity.”
She brushed a fingertip over the spot between her brows. Lately, she’d been noticing that the fine line she got when she puzzled over something didn’t fade the way it used to when she was younger. But she wasn’t thirty-six yet!
She issued a sigh. “Fine. I’ll live with the insult of my alleged age. But what is this?” She ran a finger beneath the line halfway down that mentioned a man named Jeremy Edgars.
He stared at her. “That’s me.”
“But…” She peered at the page. One word popped off the paper at her. “It says you’re my husband!”
He gave her a long, appraising look.
She backed up a step, shaking her head. “No way. I’m not doing it. I’m going back to Princeton.”
“Sophie, you’re a logical person.”
“Exactly—my brain is telling me that marriage is a terrible idea. Even a fake one!”
“We have to do this.” He reached into the pocket of his black pants and pulled out a glimmering gold band.
She balked.
“Give me your hand.”
“Why do we have to pretend we’re married?” She darted a look at his hand and saw a matching thick gold wedding band on his fourth finger.
She broke out in a sweat. After the hell her ex put her through, she’d sworn to remain single for the rest of her days. If she happened to meet a nice guy, they could always cohabitate without paperwork binding them.
He thrust out the ring. “Put this on.”
She snatched her hand back. “No.”
“Sophie.” His deep voice was laced with a warning.
She stuck both hands behind her back. “Is this necessary?”
His chest expanded. “It’s the order I was given. So, yes. Give me your hand. Please.”
Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she slowly held out her hand. He closed his fingers over hers and turned it palm up. Then he dropped the ring into the middle of it.
Her logical mind couldn’t wrap itself around what he was asking of her. To pose as his…wife?
And to make it worse…
“Did I read that we’re newlyweds?”
He nodded. “We’ll appear to be absorbed in each other while we honeymoon in Turkey—and get closer to our guy.”
She clenched her hand into a fist. In the middle of her palm, the ring felt strange and fragile.
Like her heart had been after she finally took off her wedding ring following her split from Benjamin.
Could she pull off this farce?
Did she have a choice? Despite the pressure of the military breathing down her neck to decode that cryptogram, she couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away. She could do some good here.
And after learning that the man had photographed the building a terroristic threat was made against, she was even more determined to find out what that puzzle meant.
She extended her fingers and shoved the ring down the length of her finger.
It fit.
It looked…
Well, she wasn’t going to think about that right now. She had bigger issues at hand.
“When do we fly?” She shoved her hair over her shoulder.
He eyed her like he was waiting for another outburst. Maybe she did have another in her—the day wasn’t yet over.
“Now.”
* * * * *
That damn ring fit her. And the warm gold metal caught the light when she flipped her long, thick brown hair over her shoulder.
Con’s throat was still tight from the bellow he held in check when his superior officer informed him that he and Sophie would be traveling to Turkey as newlyweds. He’d been in battles with less risk than dragging a woman who wasn’t trained in espionage halfway around the world and expecting her to perform under pressure.
He gave her outfit a once-over. “Change into something comfortable for flying all night.”
She straightened her shoulders that had slumped the minute she put that ring on her finger. “All right. Where is my bag?”
“Come with me.” He led her to a bathroom where her bag was already waiting. “You can shower too if you wish. You’ll find everything you need in the cabinets.”
“Thank you.”
As he walked away, he heard the door close with a quiet snick . By the time he reached the end of the hall, the low strains of the shower reached him.
Con started thinking about Sophie peeling her business clothes off her body.
Thinking about how she might look with nothing on.
Nothing but that ring.
His steps faltered. What the hell was he doing?
The whisper of the shower drove his steps faster, and he turned the corner that led to his own quarters.
Since the house was so large, they all had their own quarters and didn’t have to share with a teammate, but that didn’t mean the furnishings weren’t military issue. He had a set of bunk beds, for Christ’s sake. Each time he walked into the room, the bunks were a fresh insult.
With annoyance plucking at his already enflamed nerves, he walked over to his footlocker against one wall and started pulling out gear. Besides the usual things he needed for an op—body armor and weapons—he required civilian clothes.
He tossed in clothing any which way, but when it came to his gear, he packed more carefully. This wasn’t just any go bag, and required a bit more thought.
He double-checked his weapons and ammo, then showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes. After he tucked his sidearm in the waist of his jeans along his spine, he felt more himself than he had all day.
By the time he walked out, bag in hand, he knew they didn’t have much time left to catch that plane.
He found Sophie emerging from the bathroom in a pair of loose pants and a casual sweater. Her hair wasn’t wet, but the strands were smooth and glossy. Her cheeks had a rosy glow, probably from the heat of the shower.
He was not getting on that train of thought again.
They eyed each other.
To make this work, they needed to find some common ground and get much more comfortable with each other. Good thing they had an entire flight across the Atlantic.
He reached for the bag she gripped in front of her body like a shield. “Ready?”
She let him take the bag. “As I’ll ever be.”
He huffed a laugh. “Funny—you were much more eager to dig into a cryptogram than to go to Turkey.” He took off toward the back door of the house where Mason would be waiting with the SUV.
“The devil I know and the devil I don’t, I guess you could say.”
“That is the saying.” He slowed his quick pace to allow her to keep up. He’d do well to remember that husbands didn’t walk ahead of their wives, at least not in this country.
“You’ll have time on the plane to memorize the information on the sheet I gave you.”
“Oh, I already did that.”
His steps slowed. He cast a glance at her. “You memorized it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay then.” He shouldn’t be surprised to learn her mind worked like a computer. He could see it in the depths of her eyes whenever he gave her a new scrap of information to process.
They reached a heavy metal door.
“This isn’t original to the house,” she remarked with a shake of her head.
“No.” He pushed through it into the cool night. The bushes planted around the walkway released the scent of earth and the spice of green things. Through the screen of small evergreens, the pool glimmered, reflecting the moon in the sky.
The hum of the SUV drew him forward. Mason had the headlights cut, plunging the black vehicle into complete darkness where it was parked in the shadows.
Con opened the back door for Sophie.
“Shouldn’t we blindfold her?” Mason’s voice projected from the shadows of the front seat.
“No. She already knows where we are, remember?”
Mason gave a grunt, and Con gestured for Sophie to get in.
She did, and he placed the bags in the rear before climbing into the passenger seat. Mason zoomed out into the night. No words were exchanged, but Con could feel the tension coming off Sophie in thick waves.
He floundered for a way to put her at ease, and fast. Discussing the op with her and Mason wouldn’t calm her down. Small talk about her job would only remind her that she wouldn’t be returning to the classroom until her job with Blackout was completed.
He glanced down at his hand where it rested on his knee. His left hand bore the very unfamiliar gold band that would be his constant reminder of what they were doing, and why.
He’d been in this game long enough to know the cryptogram was the key to saving lives. They needed that guy.
And they needed Sophie.