Sandra Marton - Naked In His Arms

“What they need—what we need—is an experienced operative. A man who’s been in the line of fire, who knows better than to trust anyone, who isn’t afraid to do whatever it takes—whatever it takes—to keep this witness safe.”

Alex stood up.

“You’re right. That’s exactly the kind of man you need, but it isn’t going to be me.”

The director rose, too. “I’ve given this a great deal of consideration. You’re the right man, the only man, for this assignment.”

“No.”

“Damn it, Knight, you pledged your loyalty to your country!”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand, Shaw?” Nobody ever used the director’s name. It hung in the air between them, a deliberate reminder of Alex’s removal from the life he’d once led. “I’d say it was nice seeing you again,” he said, reaching for the door, “but hell, why lie about it?”

“They’ll never get a conviction without your help!”

Alex opened the door.

“They’ll kill the witness! Do you want that on your conscience?”

Alex looked at the older man. “My conscience won’t even notice,” he said tonelessly. “You should know that better than any man alive.”

“Knight! Knight, come back here—”

Alex slammed the door behind him and walked away.

He drove the BMW back to the airport, dropped it at the rental place and bought a seat on the shuttle to New York.

Anything was better than another few hours spent breathing the air in a town where politicians kissed babies while the agencies they funded dealt in death plots hatched by cold-eyed men who lived in the shadows.

He knew it was the same in every other government across the planet, but that didn’t make it easier to accept.

He had almost a full hour to kill, so he settled into the first-class lounge. The attendant poured him a double bourbon; the brunette sitting across from him looked up from reading Vanity Fair, looked back down, then did a double-take and looked up again.

Her smile would have made her dentist proud.

Somehow, the already short skirt of her Armani suit slid up another couple of inches. That was fine with Alex.

The lady had great legs.

Come to think of it, she had great everything. When she smiled a second time, he picked up his drink, crossed the room and took the chair beside hers.

A little while later, he knew a lot about her. Actually he knew all a man needed to know, including the fact that she lived in Austin. Not too far from Dallas.

And she was definitely interested.

But even though he kept smiling, Alex suddenly realized that he wasn’t.

Maybe it was that session with the director. Maybe it was being back in D.C. It had stirred up a lot of memories, most of them unwanted, including what a young innocent he’d been when he’d taken the Agency oath.

Nobody had told him that words like “serve” and “honor” could be perverted into something that stole a man’s soul.

His obligation to the Agency had ended the day he’d resigned. Besides, from what Shaw had said, this didn’t have a damned thing to do with defending and serving his country.

It had to do with a crime family and a witness.

A witness whose life was in danger.

The brunette leaned closer, said something and smiled. Alex didn’t hear a word of it, but he smiled back.

Shaw wasn’t given to hyperbole. He used words like those only when he meant them.

Damn it, he should have listened to Matt and Cam. They’d had dinner together at their father’s home. Things had changed in their relationship with the old man. It wasn’t perfect but it was a lot better than when they’d been growing up. All it had taken to accomplish that, Alex thought wryly, was Cam almost dying and Matt involved in a shoot-out.

His sisters-in-law had bustled off to the kitchen to get coffee and dessert. He and his brothers had joked around for a while, even the old man joining in, and then Alex had casually mentioned that the director had asked to see him.

“He wants me to fly down tomorrow.”

Matt laughed. “He must be nuts, thinking you’d come.”

“You told him what he could do with his request, right?” Cam said.

Alex hesitated. “I have to admit, I’m curious.”

“To hell with curiosity,” Matt said bluntly. “Whatever Shaw wants, you can bet your ass it isn’t good.”

Later, his father had drawn him aside. He’d been quiet through the conversation, so quiet Alex had almost forgotten he was there.

“You never talk about your time in the Agency,” Avery said quietly, “which makes me suspect it wasn’t all pleasant. But you must have believed in it once, son, or you’d never have taken the oath that made you part of it.”

It was true. He had believed. In the oath to serve and respect his nation, its people…

Damn it. A pledge was a pledge.

He was on his feet before he remembered the brunette. Hell. He’d completely tuned her out. The fixed smile on her face made him wince.

“Sorry,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I, ah, I’ve changed my plans. I’ll be staying in D.C. Business, you know?”

She looked surprised but she made a quick recovery, dug in her purse and handed him a small vellum card.

“Well, call me,” she said brightly. “When you have the chance.”

He smiled, said all the right things. But he knew he wouldn’t call and, he was sure, so did she.

He parked in the same lot. Went through the same smoked-glass doors, through the same security gate. Rode up in the same elevator. Pressed his thumb against the same keypad, had his eye scanned by the same impersonal machine.

If Shaw’s secretary was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it.

“Take a seat, Mr. Knight,” she said, and scurried down the hall.

Seconds later, Alex stood inside the director’s office. Shaw rose from behind his desk, smiling broadly, and held out his hand. Alex pointedly looked at it, then ignored it.

“Let’s get something straight,” he said coldly. “I do this one thing, you never contact me again.”

Shaw nodded.

“I work alone.”

“I know you’d prefer that, but—”

“I work alone,” Alex said sharply, “or I don’t work at all.”

Shaw’s mouth thinned but he didn’t protest.

“And I have carte blanche. I’ll do whatever it takes to safeguard this witness without interference or second-guessing from you or anybody else.”

Shaw nodded again. “Done.”

“Tell me the basics.”

“The witness lives in New York City.”

“Married? Single? How old is he?”

“Single. Mid-twenties. And it’s a ‘she,’ not a ‘he.’”

A woman. That only complicated things. Women were invariably more difficult to handle. They were emotional, hormonal…

“The witness’s connection to the Gennaros?”

Shaw’s lips curved in a cold smile. “She was Anthony Gennaro’s mistress.”

No wonder she was important to the feds. And hostile. This particular lady would know a lot, including just how vicious Tony Gennaro could be.

The director handed Alex a large manila envelope. “That’s everything we have.”

Alex opened the folder and took out a photo. Gennaro had good taste in women. Excellent taste.

“Her name is Cara Prescott,” Shaw said. “She lived with Gennaro until recently.” He smiled coldly. “She worked for him.”

Alex turned the photo over. All the details were there. Name, DOB, last known address. Hair: brown. Eyes: brown. And yet, the photo told him the words were meaningless.

Cara Prescott’s hair would be the color of ripe chestnuts; her eyes would be flecked with gold, and her mouth would be a tender pink.

She had a look that could only be called delicate, even fragile. He knew it was only that, a look, but scum like Gennaro would have been drawn to it like the proverbial moth to the flame.