Chapter 11
Hoot hated tuxedos. There was something fundamentally wrong with putting a former Navy SEAL in a penguin suit and expecting him to look comfortable.
He wasn’t. Neither were the rest of the guys.
They’d all been instructed to dress in the same uncomfortable black armor disguised as formalwear, and the collective misery was almost enough to make Hoot smile.
The ballroom of the National Building Museum was spectacular.
The Whitmore Foundation had spared no expense.
Massive Corinthian columns rose toward the ornate ceiling.
Crystal chandeliers threw warm light across polished marble floors.
Round tables dressed in white linen filled the central portion of the room, each decorated with elaborate floral arrangements and tiny gold place cards.
At one end, a stage had been constructed beneath a massive banner bearing the Whitmore Foundation’s crest. Beyond the ballroom, open archways led into reception rooms where servers circulated with champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
Three hundred people mingled. Politicians and diplomats. Military officers chatted with business leaders and foreign dignitaries. People who could make a phone call and change the trajectory of an entire company—or a country.
And there was the potential that somewhere among them were people who might want to hurt one of those people.
Hoot scanned the room again, finding nothing suspicious.
Nothing out of place. Which meant they were doing their jobs.
Condor’s Overwatch had been brought in as additional security, working alongside the Whitmore Foundation’s private detail and law enforcement.
Technically, they weren’t in charge. They were there to fill gaps.
Hoot wasn’t convinced there were any gaps to fill.
“Anyone else feel overdressed?” Eggs asked through the comm.
Hoot kept his eyes on the crowd. “Yes.”
“Anyone else feel like we’re guarding a room full of people who’d faint if someone spilled red wine on their shoes?” Spark’s voice came through.
“That’s because they would.” Voodoo chimed in.
“I’d pay money to see it.”
“You’re supposed to be working,” Flint reminded them.
“We are.”
Hoot watched a server cross the ballroom. “So far, I’ve prevented three canapés from becoming airborne.”
“Heroic,” Jeeves said.
“I thought so.” Hoot almost smiled. They might be bored, but boredom didn’t mean complacency. Their eyes never stopped moving, constantly scanning every entrance, every exit. Every person who lingered too long. Every hand that disappeared into a pocket.
Haley was back at the office, monitoring hacked security feeds and feeding information through their comms. She always preferred the computer. It didn’t complain about tuxedos. “Camera four is clean,” Haley reported.
“Six?” Flint asked.
“Clean.”
“Loading entrance?”
“Clean.”
Hoot scanned the ballroom again. Then he saw her. Everything inside him stopped, and for one completely irrational second, he forgot how to breathe.
Lark stood near the far side of the ballroom beside her parents. He’d seen her in jeans. Paint-stained clothes. With her hair pulled back while she worked. He’d seen her covered in coffee. He’d seen her dripping wet in the middle of Bell Creek.
None of those images prepared him for this. Even the most detailed social media images he’d pored over didn't do her justice.
Her gown was elegant without being flashy, the fabric flowing from her shoulders to the floor in a way that seemed to move with her rather than restrict her. Her hair had been styled differently than he’d ever seen it, swept away from her face with loose strands framing her cheeks.
She looked beautiful. No, beautiful wasn’t enough. She looked like she belonged in this room. And yet somehow, Hoot knew she didn’t. Or didn’t want to.
His chest tightened. “Well, hell,” Voodoo murmured through the comm.
Hoot glanced around instinctively. “Don’t say it.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Was just going to mention that your girl cleans up nice.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“Wow. She’s so pretty,” Haley said, having obviously found her on the security camera. “When are you gonna introduce us to your girl?” she whined.
Hoot pinched the bridge of his nose. “Again, not my girl.”
Eggs chuckled. “Sure. Then why can’t you take your eyes off of her.”
“Shut up,” Hoot growled.
“Another one bites the dust,” teases Spark.
Hoot ignored them. But sure enough, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
She was standing beside her parents, smiling politely.
Except it wasn’t her smile. He knew that now.
He could recognize the little crease that appeared between her eyebrows when she was uncomfortable.
The slight tightening of her shoulders. The way her fingers drummed a restless rhythm against her thigh when she was trying to keep her emotions under control.
He’d seen those things in Bell Creek. He’d seen them when Marilyn had asked about her family. When her aunt expressed her concern for Wren, he’d seen them. And now he saw all of them.
She was miserable, yet nobody around her seemed to notice. Nobody except him. Hoot frowned. Since when had he gotten to know her well enough to recognize those tiny tells? He didn’t have an answer.
When Wren and Bradley joined her group, Hoot’s attention immediately sharpened.
Bradley Whitmore looked exactly like the kind of man Hoot expected to see in this room.
The man wore an expensive tuxedo, his hair perfectly styled, and a confident smile graced his lips.
The kind of man who’d never had to wonder whether a door would open for him.
Bradley approached Lark, stretching a hand toward her. Then the bastard leaned in for a hug. Something primitive and immediate surged through Hoot, yelling at him to move.
He took one step forward. Then stopped himself. What the hell was he doing? Lark wasn’t his. She wasn’t even part of his assignment. He had no reason to intervene.
Fortunately, she handled it herself. At the last second, Lark smoothly sidestepped the embrace. With a practiced move full of grace, she extended her hand. Bradley’s smile faltered, but he still took it. Lark’s mother looked furious. Hoot almost smiled.
“Atta girl,” Voodoo murmured.
Hoot’s jaw tightened. “Must you?”
“You wanted to throw Whitmore across the ballroom.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Your feet disagreed.”
Hoot glanced down. He had, in fact, moved several steps closer. Damn it.
Why was Lark here? She’d left Bradley. Left this world. Everything he’d seen of her in Bell Creek suggested she’d chosen a completely different life. So why come back?
He should have asked her the other day at the bakery. Before she’d nearly knocked herself unconscious. But then he’d have had to explain more about himself. And that was complicated.
Security was technically true. But Condor’s Overwatch handled government contracts.
Some were classified. Some involved work that never appeared on paper.
Some operations happened off the books because official channels weren’t always an option.
Operational security was second nature to him since his SEAL days.
It wasn’t a secret. But it wasn’t exactly something he could discuss over coffee with a woman he’d known for a week.
He returned his attention to the room. Hours passed. The gala moved through dinner, speeches, networking, and enough political glad-handing to make Hoot want to escape through the nearest window.
Then he saw Lark again. She stood alone near one of the marble columns, well away from the crowd. Her shoulders sagged. She looked exhausted. Hoot shouldn’t have gone to her. She wasn’t part of his job. He knew that. He also knew he was already moving.
He approached silently, military training made it easy. Lark didn’t notice him until he spoke. “Enjoying yourself?”
She jumped. Her hand flew to her chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” she exclaimed. “Are you part cat or something? Make some noise when you move.”
He smiled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You appeared out of nowhere.”
“Occupational hazard.”
A beat passed, and then she seemed to grasp that his being there was not typical. “What are you doing here?”
“Security,” he answered simply.
She narrowed her eyes. “So, not a mall cop.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. Lark stared at him. The surprise on her face almost made him laugh again.
“Damn. You smiled.”
“So?”
“You should do that more often.”
Hoot tilted his head. “Maybe you bring it out of me.”
Her mouth fell open. His own brain seemed to short-circuit. What the hell had he just said?
Haley’s voice came through his earpiece. “Oh, I’m definitely recording this.”
Hoot ignored her.
Lark’s cheeks had turned pink. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you flirt before.”
“Neither have I.”
She laughed. He liked the sound. Too much.
“There it is,” he declared.
“What?”
“That’s the first time I’ve seen your real smile since you arrived.” His gaze swept over her. “You don’t want to be here.”
Her smile disappeared. “You’ve been watching me?”
Through his comm Eggs replied, “Like a hawk,” just as he shrugged and answered, “Maybe,” while ignoring the voice in his ear.
He could tell she didn’t know what to make of his answer. “You’re right. I don’t want to be here.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the ballroom. “My family. They’re complicated.”
That was enough to make him listen. She went on to explain further. The arrangement with Bradley. Her parents’ expectations. Wren and the bothersome age difference and the online attacks she’d been receiving.
Then there was the demand that Lark attend so everyone could see that she supported the relationship. Hoot's jaw tightened. “They expect you to pretend you’re happy?”
“Basically,” she stated, making it sound as though it were a simple, everyday matter.
“Don’t get me wrong. I stopped having feelings for Bradley long ago.
” Then she stopped and seemed to ponder something.
“In fact, I don’t think I ever had any feelings for him.
It had been expected of me to be paired with someone of significance.
Despite how absurd it may appear, I strove to satisfy my parents’ expectations. But of course, it was never enough.”
Haley’s voice came through the comm. “Her parents sound delightful.”
Lark looked around. “What was that?”
“What?”
“I heard someone comment on my parents.”
Hoot’s eyes widened. “You heard that?” It really shouldn’t be possible. Their comms were top of the line, designed so only the wearer could hear.
“I have above-average hearing,” she stated as if it was no big deal.
“Guess I’ll have to watch what I say from now on.”
She laughed. “Was that your team?” she asked, pointing to his ear.
“Yes.”
“Are they listening?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Do they always listen?”
“Yes, when we’re on a job.”
“Then I suppose I should watch what I say as well.”
Eggs’ voice immediately came through. “Please don’t.”
Lark laughed. Hoot shook his head. His team had gone from teasing him to quietly listening. He could feel the mood change. They didn’t know Lark, but they knew enough. And none of them liked what they were hearing.
Hoot looked at her. “You don’t have to share everything with me. And you should never feel compelled to alter who you are for the sake of being accepted or making other people happy.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
She looked down. “Because Wren asked me.”
That stopped him. He understood that. Family could make people do stupid things. Especially when love was involved.
Before he could respond, Voodoo’s voice cut through the comm. “Hoot.” The tone changed everything. Hoot straightened. “What?”
“Calloway just arrived.”
Every muscle in Hoot’s body tightened. His eyes moved toward the ballroom entrance, and there stood Grant Calloway. The man connected to the mission that had cost them Bullet.
Hoot’s instincts went instantly on high alert. Lark noticed. Her eyes followed his. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She looked at Calloway, then back at Hoot. “You know him?”
Hoot didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not without explaining too much. Instead, he watched Calloway walk through the ballroom. The man looked perfectly at ease. Perfectly respectable and harmless. Hoot knew better than to trust appearances.
He glanced at Lark. Her expression had changed. Recognition? Uncertainty? He couldn’t tell. But suddenly one question became impossible to ignore. Had Lark met Grant Calloway before? Because if she had... this night had just become a hell of a lot more complicated.