Ace in the Hole (4 page)

Christian stared up at him in shock. “What the hell was
that
for?”

“Stay here,” Stone bit out tersely. “Don’t come out from behind the curtains to see what’s going on. And if I tell you to run, head for the stage exit and run for the front of the hotel and the biggest crowd of people you can find.”

“What are you talking about?”

“No questions. Just do it.” He pushed up and away from Christian, rising to a crouch as he pulled out his sidearm. Replaying the glimpse of that laser dot in his mind’s eye, he took his best guess at the source: the orchestra balcony in the back of the ballroom. Spinning out low from behind the curtain, he knelt in a shooter’s stance, pistol braced in both hands for the takedown shot.

“Easy, man,” Travis Tucker laughed from the balcony. “I was just testing your reflexes.”

Stone stared down the barrel of his weapon at the security man for a stunned moment while his killer brain reluctantly processed that there was no threat. After a several second delay, he lowered the weapon and stood upright. Moving with taut precision, he made his weapon safe and replaced it in its holster.

“Tucker,” he said in a conversational voice, trusting the room’s excellent acoustics to carry his words up to the balcony, “you just came very, very close to dying. Do not pull a shithead stunt like that again unless (a), you have a death wish, or (b), you want me to quit this job.”

The ex-Marine threw both hands up in mock surrender, holding a sniper’s sight that was no doubt the source of the laser dot on Christian’s chest in one fist. Speaking of whom….

Stone looked to his left. Christian was standing in the shadows beside the velvet stage curtains, looking more than a little shocked. Stone moved over to join him, chagrin coursing through his blood like hot acid.

“Sorry about tackling you. Did I hurt you?”

“I played football at Columbia University. I’ve taken worse hits.”

Thank God. It wasn’t every day he randomly tackled his employer’s right-hand man and slammed the guy to the floor. He moved off stage, out of sight of Tucker, and muttered low, “I really am sorry about that.”

“It’s all good. I’m glad to see you’re worth what Lacey’s paying for your services. Those are some reflexes you’ve got there.”

He frowned. “Speaking of which. If you ever see a laser dot like that again, don’t stop to think about it. Don’t look around to see where it’s coming from. Don’t point it out to anyone. Just hit the dirt. Next time it may not be an asshole playing a joke at the other end of that laser beam.” He added reluctantly, “I’d take it amiss if someone blew your head off.”

Christian’s too intelligent and too perceptive gaze snapped to his. Stone forced himself not to look away. His adrenaline was still screaming, his reactions still too raw, to bother trying to hide them.

A slow nod from Christian. Then, a low murmur. “I like you too.”

“Just remember about the dot. If you see one,
move
.”

“Got it.”

Stone realized his legs felt more than a little weak. Ahh, the joys of coming down off a hard spike of life-and-death stress. He was going to kick Tucker’s ass when he got within arm’s length of the guy. Travis knew better than to mess with a man trained like him. Truly, his finger had begun the pull-through on the trigger of his gun before Tucker had identified himself. It had been a closer call than anyone knew.

Christian asked him low, “You okay? Do you need a drink or something?”

“It’s not even 10:00 a.m. yet,” he replied dryly.

“It’s after noon somewhere.”

He grinned reluctantly.

“Come with me. I know exactly what you need.”

He looked up sharply at Christian. And for once in his life, he let someone else look out for him. “Lead on.”

CHRISTIAN
was frankly startled that Stone followed him out the french doors and down to the beach. It would be good for the guy to let go of the reins now and then. God knew, Stone looked ready to kill someone.

“Shoes and tie off,” he ordered briskly, kicking off his own leather oxfords and stripping his socks. He untied his necktie and let it dangle around his neck. Ahh. Better.

“I’m not cavorting on the beach like some starry-eyed tourist who’s never seen the ocean before.”

He glared at Stone, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Your shoulders are up around your ears, you can’t keep your hands still—they keep reaching for your holster—and I can see the pulse in your temple, so don’t tell me your heart’s not racing and your blood pressure isn’t sky-high. You need to breathe, and you need to burn off a little stress before you hurt someone.”

To his credit Stone seemed to take a moment to self-assess, and then he followed Christian down to the beach without comment. Would wonders never cease?

Barefoot, he led Stone out into the white sugar sand, soft and already hot under foot in the late-morning sun. The hotels and condo associations in this part of South Beach imported truckloads of premium sand every year and actually made it a pretty decent beach. Down by the water, the sand hardened up enough to be walkable with only minor cracking of the crusty surface underfoot.

The tangy smell of salt and algae was strong. It reminded him sharply of long summers in Martha’s Vineyard spent playing on the beach with his older sister, turning nut brown and white haired, carefree and innocent. Before things like sexual orientation and career choice and maintaining a careful façade of respectability became the center of his world.

“You’re taking me for a walk along the beach?” Stone asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “I would have suggested we go for a run if either one of us was dressed for it. You look like you might actually be able to keep up with me for a little while.”

A crack of laughter escaped Stone.

Oh yeah? Mr. Macho thought he could keep up with the triathlete? He’d like to see it. “My intent is not a romantic stroll. I’m trying to help you to burn out the adrenaline screaming through you and work off some of the anger that’s making you look like a wife-beater. I need you not to kill someone in the next hour because you’re wired so tight that someone accidentally triggers a kill reflex out of you.”

“Why do you care if I kill someone or not?”

“A staff member of Senator Lacey committing homicide would be a PR nightmare. And it would land squarely in my lap to fix. No, thank you.”

“Is it up to you to fix everything for everybody, then?”

“Call me Girl Friday,” he answered lightly.

Stone did not respond other than to veer out into the surf a little farther.

The tide was out and the ocean quiet this morning, with lazy sheets of foam creeping up the beach and retreating slowly. Good day for an open-water swim. At this time of year, the ocean was warm enough that he wouldn’t even need a wet suit to stave off hypothermia.

Part of why Christian worked out so much was to let off the stress of being around Jack Lacey day in and day out without putting his fist through the bastard’s teeth. He could relate to Stone’s tension.

He was surprised, however, when Stone paused and turned to take a long look at the hotel ballroom. The security guard was still fully in charge of the man. Stone shook his head, muttering something about the place being indefensible. Christian highly doubted the Imperium ballroom had been designed with defense of any kind in mind.

Somebody passing by wolf-whistled—whether at him or Stone, Christian couldn’t tell. But Stone jolted violently, his hands coming up in a defensive position Christian recognized from his boxing training.

“Easy there, Tonto. You can come down off the bridge now. No one’s trying to kill anyone.”

“You don’t have to talk me down off any bridges,” Stone snapped. “I’m not going to jump.”

“Hell, I’m not worried about you jumping. You’re up there with an Uzi picking out targets. That’s what worries me.”

Stone grinned at him reluctantly.

“Walk with me. It’ll make you feel better.”

They continued down the beach, shoes dangling from their fingers and toes tickled by the surf hissing onto the sand. A cool breeze was blowing in off the ocean this morning, making for unseasonably pleasant conditions. Still, the humidity made Stone’s dark, collar-length hair wave and curl around his strong features in very European fashion. Usually Christian went for the clean-cut type, but the look was hot.

“Do you have psychology training?” Stone asked him without warning.

“Sort of. I’m a lawyer by education.” His profession was as often about head games as it was about the law.

“What kind of law?”

“Criminal. I specialize in white-collar crime.”

A snort. “Is that how you ended up with Lacey? Aiding and abetting his shenanigans?”

He grinned back. “I do my best to keep him on the straight and narrow.” And truth be told, it was not an easy job. The man was a born con artist. But between him and Lacey’s wife, with her iron fist inside that velvet Southern glove of hers, they’d succeeded so far.

“Why do you work for him?” Stone challenged.

“He’s no worse than most of the elected officials on Capitol Hill. And with a job as a Senate senior staffer on my résumé, I have a shot at the kind of work I really want.”

“Which is?”

“Federal prosecution.”

“I have to be honest with you. That sounds as dry as dust to me.”

Christian grinned at him. “I’ll take it over throwing myself on top of people for a living.”

A smirk. “It has its perks. You took that tackle surprisingly well. I’d have injured most men.”

“I’m not most men.”

“No.” A pause. “You’re not.”

Arrested by the undertone in those words, Christian stopped and turned to stare at Stone. But Stone refused to meet his gaze and kept on walking. Huh. A relationship between them was out of the question. Not only did both of them have demanding careers that took all of their attention, but now they worked for the same man. Ethics alone dictated that they not get involved. Too bad. Stone fascinated him as no man had in a very long time. Maybe ever.

They walked about a mile down the beach before the decent sand ran out. Thankfully, Stone’s shoulders had come down from around his ears, and that white line around his lips had disappeared.

They turned around to walk back to the hotel at a more leisurely pace than they’d made the outbound leg. That was more like it. The trained killer had retreated, leaving behind the guy he’d met last night in the bar. The guy he’d almost had gnarly sex with and was still frustrated as hell not to have had sex with. His dick leaped to life at the mere thought, and he gritted his teeth against getting turned on in thin business trousers that would do nothing to contain a hard-on.

Had they not been in business trousers and dress shirts, he’d have challenged Stone to a race back to the hotel. Not many people could give him a run for his money, but he expected Stone could.

Cock still filling and getting heavy, dammit.

Must. Distract. Self.

“How’d you get into the security business?” he asked. Jeez. Even he could hear the strain in his voice.
Get it together, man.
Christian prided himself on his self-control. He never lost it like this.

A shrug. “Did similar work in the military. It was an easy slide over to the civilian side of the house and a decent paycheck for a change.”

“You were a bodyguard in the military?” He was not aware of that being an actual job the military did.

“I trained security teams for foreign heads of state. Taught them how to keep their personal popcorn dictator alive.”

Fuck. That was sexy as hell. Focus on the conversation. “And how did you learn how to do that?”

“Because my job for years was to kill foreign heads of state.”

Christian jolted. “The US government doesn’t kill foreign leaders. Doing so would open our own senior leaders up to assassinations in return. It’s one of the few gentlemen’s agreements left in the world. You don’t kill our guy—we won’t kill yours.”

“You go right ahead and keep on thinking that,” Stone answered dryly.

“Who? Name me one head of state we’ve taken out.”

“Dude. That kind of stuff is so classified that the security-violation fairies would rise up out of the ocean and shoot me dead where I stand if I talked about it.”

They resumed walking. “Seriously?” Christian muttered. “We do that kind of stuff?”

“You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff we do.”

“But why?”

“Threaten the nation, threaten to attack civilians, threaten a high-ranking member of our government—we’re coming for you.”

It wasn’t as if classified military operations were entirely unheard of. Although Lacey wasn’t on the Senate Intelligence Committee, certain briefings came along. Rumors floated around among the Senate staffers. Now and then the full Senate got a briefing about some activity the military was undertaking. Hell, he didn’t want to venture a guess at what the CIA might be up to that it didn’t brief the Senate on.

“And who exactly is ‘we’? Who did you work for?”

“Classified.”

“I’ve got a top-secret clearance. Have to if I’m going to handle all of the senator’s correspondence. I’ve heard of some of the types of groups you’re talking about.”

“I guarantee you haven’t heard about the one I ran with.”

He got the distinct impression that was all Stone planned to say on the subject. It made sense, though. As fast as one Special Forces group got famous for its exploits, another had to be formed that was deeply secret. Totally off the books. Able to work in the secrecy necessary to do the kind of stuff Stone was hinting at.

“What’s Senator Lacey up to this morning?” Stone asked as they neared the hotel. “All his itinerary said was ‘work.’”

“That would be sleeping in late and eating brunch in his suite before heading down to the spa for a massage and mani-pedi,” Christian answered wryly.

“He gets mani-pedis?”

“Real men are allowed to have decent grooming, you know.”

“Yeah, but pedicures?”

“He likes the kind where the fish eat the dead skin off his feet.”