Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Chris tightened the knot of his black tie as he scanned the room, feeling naked without a sidearm.
Both he and Roman had ditched their black suit jackets as soon as they cleared security, peeling them off at the same time as if on cue, which had Harper poking fun at them for what she called their “synchronized striptease.”
Now, thirty minutes into the evening—thirty minutes that felt like thirty days—Chris still hadn’t spent any time with Rory.
Much to his annoyance, she’d been immediately pulled into one conversation after another by people who recognized her.
But the main guest of the evening, Andrew Cutter, was nowhere to be seen yet.
Cutter’s treasure may have been the evening’s main event, but to Chris, Rory was the highlight of his night.
Chris kept eyes on Rory, who glanced over at him every few minutes, an apologetic look on her face as she was whisked this way and that. He smiled back each time, not wanting her to feel guilty, and occupied himself by scrutinizing his surroundings as though he were on an official op.
The gala was being held in a ballroom on the fifth floor of a prestigious hotel in Georgetown, and the décor was a throwback to another era when Spain was busy colonizing the world.
Well, that was his assumption based on the treasures from Cutter’s recovery of an 18th-century Spanish vessel and the gold description placards attached to the glass display cases placed around the room.
Red and gold, the colors of the Spanish flag, made up the theme. From table coverings and drapes to the gold vases that held elaborate arrangements of red carnations—the national flower of Spain. Even the hors d’oeuvres offered by the catering staff circulating the room were Spanish tapas.
Chris walked along the perimeter of the room, unable to stop himself from sweeping his gaze left and right. Discreetly checking out people. No obvious bulges beneath men’s jackets at the back or hips indicating they were concealing firearms.
Two security guards manned the only entrance to the room, which led to the hall and elevators.
One guard stood by the terrace doors, which were open to allow the fresh night air into the ballroom.
The guards all had short hair making it easy to see that there were no coiled wires attached to earpieces.
Not even weapons from what he could tell.
Not much in the way of security from Chris’s viewpoint, especially for an event like this.
Bad guys could easily infil the ballroom and steal the treasure if they wanted to.
Fast-rope onto the terrace. Storm the room from the elevators.
Break the glass exhibit cases with a spring-loaded window punch tool.
Then rappel off the building to get to the street within seconds for an escape.
Or maybe lock everyone in the room, steal the guards’ uniforms, and walk right out the front door.
Disable the cams in the hallways, all with the touch of a few buttons on a laptop. It’d be an easy in and out.
And that made him uncomfortable.
The room was too vulnerable to intrusion.
He couldn’t seem to flip off operator mode even if he wanted to, he realized.
I’m overreacting. Rich people have lavish events all the time. I don’t hear about masked men terrorizing their parties. But after seeing Rory’s scars, it was hard to relax. Who did that to her? Why?
He slowed in front of the four-member band at the far corner of the room where no one was dancing even though there was a designated place for it. Chris nodded at the sax player in appreciation of his performance, and the man tipped his head in thanks.
Then he faced the large room again and began navigating around the people, exhibits, and tables to get to the outdoor bar on the terrace.
The only way he’d relax was to have another drink.
He was looking forward to being alone with Rory, and he tried to tell himself his nerves had nothing to do with the fact her ex was in attendance, her scars, or that there was still a potential threat endangering her life—one not even Harper’s cyber skills could discover.
The crisp air greeted him as he stepped out onto the expansive terrace, and he dragged in a breath, allowing it to fill his lungs.
To take off some of the edge, to try and not swim in a sea of worry about what Rory was hiding.
Maybe her idea of danger was different than his, and the threat was more like a gold-toothed, drunken Jack Sparrow impersonator like in the story she’d told him in Louisiana.
And maybe Elaina only wanted the four of them at the event tonight because she was playing matchmaker and not because she foresaw trouble.
But no, Rory has scars. She’s been whipped. He gulped. The fresh air no longer alleviated any of the stress he was feeling.
Chris swiped a palm down his face, trying to get a grip—for tonight, at least. He bypassed Roman and Harper chatting at the bar to get a view of the sky. No helos in sight. Nobody scaling the stone building, which would be an easy task for a decent climber.
Busy waterfront restaurants were down below. Couples meandering along the cobblestone paths by the C&O Canal and Potomac River. Too many places for a sniper to hide. Too many vantage points. He’d need to keep Rory away from the terrace.
Aside from grocery shopping and a Target run, this was their first time away from his property.
But he couldn’t be like this every time he and Rory went out in public.
She’d caught him on their flight from New Orleans to D.C.
last Saturday, scoping out every single person on the plane as a potential threat. He’d been discreet, too.
Rory would hate his overprotectiveness and overthinking about her safety.
But he had to remind himself of the significant shift in their relationship that had happened earlier in the day.
She’d opened the door for something real to happen between them.
And he didn’t want to screw things up by pushing her away because of his incessant worrying.
Chris went to the U-shaped bar but stuck to the far left side to keep an eye on the view down below. “You guys find it stifling and too uptight in there?” he asked Roman and Harper.
Harper turned toward him with her tumbler in hand. “Yeah, it’s a bit eighteenth century for me, including how the men behave toward women.”
“Someone say something to you?” Roman’s dark brow cocked in question.
“Just chauvinistic shit, and I didn’t want to make a scene, so I literally had to bite my tongue.” Harper moved to stand alongside Chris and gripped the railing, looking down at the hotel pool. “I wouldn’t mind taking a dip down there. Just get this uncomfortable dress off and dive in.”
Chris fixed his attention on the rectangular swimming pool one floor below, surrounded by imported palm trees and cabanas.
Harper kept her eyes trained on the slow ripple of water, but when Chris veered his focus to Roman, the poor guy looked all worked up.
He was staring right at Harper as if picturing her doing exactly that—removing her dress, diving into the water.
Yeah, the man had it bad. And the way his jaw clenched beneath his dark shadow of a new beard he was growing, it was the closest Chris had seen Roman on the brink of losing his restraint.
This was Elaina’s plan, he told himself, so he didn’t let his mind dip back into unfriendly waters, the kind that were filled with bad guys and guns. And enemies of the State. “It’s October, by the way. Water has to be cold.”
“A place that charges eight hundred bucks a night for a fifth-floor suite better have a heated pool.” Harper turned back toward the bar, her eyes taking a slow journey over Roman before reconnecting with Chris’s face.
“Yeah, that’s insane.” Chris grimaced at the price tag. “Uber, it is. Not that I’d leave Bear alone overnight anyway.”
Harper lifted her chin toward the open glass doors that led to the ballroom where Rory stood talking animatedly to a couple. “You think someone will convince her to go back to the treasure hunting life?”
“That’s not what she’s been—” Chris let go of his words, forgetting Roman wasn’t aware Chris had asked Harper to look into Rory’s background. “No, I don’t think anyone will talk her into going back.”
“Not even her Brad Pitt look-alike ex?” Harper sipped more of her bourbon, then ordered another round for the three of them before draining her glass.
“No, I don’t think Cutter can convince her.” And Chris was confident Rory’s ex-boyfriend would never stand between him and Rory either, especially not after the intimate time they shared earlier.
Just thinking about her body writhing beneath him two hours ago had his blood heating. His body tightening with need.
But he couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that something would ruin the evening.
That nagging feeling had been a constant presence since his mom walked out of his life when he was sixteen.
It warped and changed over time, but it was always there.
And it had kept him alive in Iraq. Kept him guarded against anyone getting the drop on him.
Protected him from enemies of all kinds.
And hell, it had kept him from falling in love.
He would not let it stop him from being with Rory. Get out of my head, Mom. But her voicemail crept into his mind nevertheless, and he realized that was yet another reason he was so on edge tonight.
He tossed back the bourbon handed to him in one swallow and set the glass down a bit too angrily, drawing Harper’s attention.
“You okay there?” she asked him.
“Another, please,” he ordered even as the alcohol burned in his chest from the last drink. “Fine,” he forced out casually.