Radclyffe - Word of Honor

“Good morning, my friend,” the dark-skinned man said as he sat down across from Matheson. His English was even less noticeably accented than it had been on the phone.

“Morning,” Matheson said, taking a sip of his coffee. Weak, just like all diner coffee. “While I’m always happy to be of service, I’m afraid my schedule is very tight today.”

“Yes, I imagine you have a plane to catch, do you not?”

Matheson’s gut tightened, but he knew the man was fishing. No one except his most trusted man knew his destination was the Pittsburgh airport. “I didn’t expect we would meet again.”

“While our previous venture was successful beyond our greatest expectations, circumstances have changed since last we talked.”

Matheson managed not to smirk. Yes, things had certainly changed. The country had gone on red alert and the military was kicking terrorist ass in Afghanistan. Soon, the U.S. would make its presence felt in other parts of the Middle East, he was certain. The show of force wasn’t enough, but it was a beginning. He contained his smile and waited.

“The item of mutual interest,” the man said smoothly, pushing his coffee cup aside untouched. “We no longer wish to divest ourselves of it.” He spread his hands as if he were discussing motor parts and not the first daughter of the United States. “We believe it has value in our forthcoming negotiations.”

Matheson leaned back casually, thinking furiously. Eliminating Blair Powell had always been his main agenda, but only a side note for these men. Why, suddenly, had they taken an interest in her? And what negotiations? He resented being played, especially by men who weren’t fit to polish his boots. He met the dark eyes across from his. “Valuable how?”

The foreigner shrugged. “Consider it currency.”

Currency. Trade. Exchange. Matheson’s lips curled as he considered the advantage to his own long-range goals. If the president’s daughter were suddenly the bargaining chip between the U.S. government and foreign terrorists, he wondered how long the president would pay lip service to his policy of not negotiating with terrorists. The president’s capitulation would strike another blow to his credibility and further weaken his paper tiger government.

“We’re talking about a very expensive commodity,” Matheson said.

“Money is of no consequence to us.”

“Twenty million.”

“A very reasonable sum. You can send information regarding payment through the usual channels. We would prefer a midweek delivery. We have a busy schedule too.”

The foreigner smiled with obvious satisfaction and Matheson wanted to put a bullet between his eyes. Instead, he rose and carefully placed payment for the coffee plus a fifteen percent tip on the table. If he couldn’t deliver as promised, he could always fall back on his initial plan and kill her. “Consider it done.”

Chapter Nineteen

Sunday

Dana barreled out of her bedroom and nearly ran over Emory in the hall. Emory obviously had just come from the shower, since her hair lay in damp wavy strands on her shoulders and she wore nothing except a large white bath towel rolled over just above the tops of her breasts.

“Sorry,” Dana said, grasping Emory’s shoulders to steady her as she stumbled backward. She tried really hard not to look down at Emory’s breasts, but she failed. And when she looked back up, she knew Emory had noticed. “Sorry.”

“For what?” Emory asked, enjoying the off-balance look in Dana’s eyes. And enjoying the appreciation in them too. She’d never given much thought to her body. She was happy that she was fit and healthy. But she wasn’t so self-deluded as to pretend she didn’t know others considered her attractive. That was nice, but didn’t rank high on things that were important to her. Except in the last two days. She loved that Dana found her attractive. Knowing that she could somehow make worldly Dana as off-kilter and unsure of herself as she seemed to be gave her a thrill. She wondered how much more excited she would feel if Dana actually put her hands where her gaze had just lingered.

“What?” Dana asked, sounding dazed.

Emory smiled. Dana wore jeans, a navy T-shirt with long sleeves that she pushed up to her elbows, and scuffed brown boots. Her almost-tight T-shirt outlined her small, neat breasts and narrow waist. Sexy, God, she was sexy in a completely unstudied way. “Sorry for what?”

“Uh, for almost running you over.” Dana backed up a step. Emory smelled like Ivory soap again, and her skin was flushed. Probably just from the heat of the shower, but Dana just knew Emory’s skin would be exactly that color when she was aroused. And she wanted nothing more in the world than to open that towel and slide her hands over the full breasts that lay beneath it. She wanted it so much she was choking on desire.

“Did you sleep all right?” Emory asked, trying to decipher Dana’s expression. Lean and hungry. She’d never really thought about what that phrase meant until just this moment, but that’s exactly how Dana looked at her. As if she were ravenous and wanted to taste her. Emory backed up in the other direction, fearful of broadcasting her arousal because she had no idea how to hide it. She licked her lips and cleared her dry throat when Dana continued to stare. “Were you going somewhere?”

“Coming to find you,” Dana said. “Patrice Hara called down. We’re on schedule to fly to Colorado today. Blair is looking for you. She said to give you the message to come up.”

“I’ll get dressed and pack, then.” Emory circled around Dana to get to her own room. Just before she went inside, she turned back to where Dana still stood in the hall. “I had a nice time last night. Just talking and watching television. I haven’t done anything that simple in a long time.” Emory hesitated. “And I liked the good-night kiss too.”

“So did I.” Dana grinned a little, recalling the exceptionally soft, exceptionally warm, and exceptionally wonderful kiss they had shared just before going to their separate bedrooms. Emory had been the one to lean forward when they stood outside their adjacent doors to say good night. Emory had kissed her first. “It was a great night. Even if we had sworn off orgasms for the evening.”

Emory laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I didn’t swear off orgasms. Just not together.”

“Are you saying you…” Dana closed her eyes. “Oh man, that is so so unfair.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Dana heard a door shut, and when she opened her eyes she was alone. She’d probably been awake the night before, restless and aroused, while Emory had been lying in the dark in the room next to hers, touching herself, making herself come. If she’d known, she doubted she would have been able to keep from going next door. But Emory had said she wasn’t ready, and more than Dana wanted her—and it felt like she wanted her more than she’d ever wanted any woman in her life—she wanted Emory to want it too.

She’d just have to be patient, but God, it was hard, when she couldn’t seem to think about anything except tasting her, and touching her, and making her sigh with pleasure.

“Perfect,” she grumbled, returning to her bedroom to grab her luggage. “Absolutely perfect time to be obsessed with a woman who might not even end up being interested—right when I’m in the middle of not just one, but two or three big stories.”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Emory said from the open doorway.

Dana spun around. Emory was no longer wearing a towel, but the silk T-shirt tucked into casual black slacks had almost the same effect. She was still beautiful and sexy. She was drying the ends of her hair with a hand towel, and after a few seconds she tilted her head quizzically.