The Paris Assignment (6 page)

He
loved
when that happened. It kept him on his toes. Kept him sharp.

Kept him prime.

The new boyfriend was also convenient.

Here he’d spent the day waiting for the perfect time to approach Abigail McBane’s house, her office all but impenetrable, and instead her new boyfriend dragged her straight out into the open. In front of a wall of windows, no less.

Hot damn.

The gunman moved deeper into the park, on paths that were nearly empty save for an occasional jogger or bicyclist passing by in the cool evening breeze. Satisfied he wouldn’t be overheard—and that his racing pulse had slowed enough for him to maintain the stoic calm he prided himself on—he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed the number he’d been given.

“Yes?”

The cold voice never failed to give him a jolt, which spoke volumes. He’d spent his professional career working with individuals who made it their business to hurt others yet this man unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. “The job was completed to your satisfaction.”

“You staked out her home as we discussed?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It was a game-time decision. I followed her from work as we discussed, but she had an event this evening, along with her new boyfriend. He was an unexpected wrinkle, but I handled it.”

“New boyfriend?” The somber tone grew harder. Sharper. “I assume you left both of them untouched. The instructions were to create fear only.”

“You’ve got plenty of that.” The gunman ignored the swell of pride and held himself in check, saying nothing further. It wouldn’t do to explain the footrace. Nor was it a meaningful discussion point to let on the tall boyfriend had gotten a bit too close for comfort a few times.

“Excellent.”

The gunman continued to wait through the long pause on the other end of the phone. He always allowed his clients to speak first; he simply awaited their instructions.

“We’ll move on to phase two. And if you ultimately need to deal with the boyfriend, as well, you will be compensated for the additional effort.”

A rush of adrenaline spiked through his system, that glorious high the reason he stayed in the game. “Thank you.”

“Good night.”

* * *

Campbell slid into the cab line at the Plaza, his arm still pressed low against Abby’s back.

“We need the car.”

“We need a cab. We’ll call the car separately and send him home.” He stood calmly and allowed the doorman to open their cab door, slipping him a quick tip before climbing in after Abby. As she gave the directions to the Upper East Side block nearest her home, he looked back at a pair of red-and-blue lights that went speeding by.

Yep. They’d avoided a whole lot of questions.

“It’s always some damn thing in this town. Something happened down the block. You know what it was?” The cabbie immediately broke into conversation after getting their destination and Campbell laid a hand over Abby’s, giving it a light squeeze.

“Not sure, are we, honey?” She turned toward him, her face tilted up and a broad smile spread across her face. “We were just heading out of the lobby. Heard a bunch of people mentioning all the commotion.”

The cabbie gave a philosophical shrug as he reached for the radio knob. “Sure it’ll be all anyone can listen to soon enough. Always something going on in this town.”

“That’s for damn sure.” Campbell pasted on a good-natured smile as he caught Abby’s determined gaze, directed toward a bold notice posted in the front of the cab. The driver had audio and video surveillance equipment built into his dash.

“I can promise you it won’t be the most exciting part of our evening, sweetie.” Abby snuggled into him as she placed a hand on his cheek to pull him close.

He
knew
it was an act—knew it to the depths of his toes—but other parts a bit farther north weren’t quite in on the joke. Campbell pressed his lips to her ear, intoxicated by the woman in his arms. Her slender body fit to his and for the briefest moment, in those last seconds while their gazes locked, Campbell felt something shift. It spun in the small space between them, surrounding them in a quiet cocoon that shut out the rest of the world.

Her hand tightened at his waist as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and he fought to keep his head. To anyone who might watch the surveillance tape, all they’d see was a happy couple, snuggling together in the back of the cab.

To his overheated body and increasingly confused mind, the ride was an exercise in delicious torture. He pressed his lips against her temple, desperate to keep his wits about him. “Nice catch.”

She nodded, but her words maintained their act. “Mmm. That was a fun night.”

He went along with the assessment, snuggling her closer. “I couldn’t agree more, darling.”

They drove the rest of the way to her home like that, heads bent like two tired lovers, wrapped up in each other at the end of a long evening. In his mind, Campbell tried to make a checklist of all he needed to do, but he got tripped up every time she moved.

The steady exhale of her breath as she sighed made him think of balmy summer breezes over naked flesh.

The thin whisper of silk against her breast brushed against his forearm, increasing his discomfort even as he refused to move an inch and risk losing the delicious contact.

And when her fingers flexed once more against his hip bone Campbell was nearly ready to give up the charade and drag her into a long, luxurious—and altogether too real—kiss.

Desperate, Campbell tried once again to return to his checklist, the alarming reality of their near miss in the bar pushing through the sexual haze of his thoughts. His first call would be to deal with the crappy security on her home in Paris, followed by a few discreet inquiries to a detective he knew at the NYPD. He wanted to keep attention off of Abby and their hasty departure and he had one person who might work with him on that front.

By now, the NYPD had likely begun reviewing surveillance video from the bar. Their departure through the window would likely raise some suspicions and he’d like to head it off at the pass if he could.

The cabbie pulled to a stop at the end of Abby’s block and Campbell threw some money at the man. What he didn’t bank on was the overwhelming sense of dread that filled him as he and Abby stood on the deserted street corner, wide out in the open as the cabbie sped off in search of his next fare.

“Campbell?”

He paused from his perusal of the street and the flash of vulnerability that lit up his nerve endings with an entirely different sort of awareness than he’d just experienced in the cab. “This isn’t safe.”

“Come on, it’ll be fine. I’m just midway down the block.” Yet again, she seemed to underestimate the possible danger that waited for her in a moment of careless neglect.

“Here. At least put this on. It’s dark and will cover the bright color of your shawl.”

He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and slipped it around her shoulders before pulling her close.

“It’s a pashmina.”

Her words came out on a breathless rush as she stared up at him. Hot, liquid need flared from the center of his chest like fire. “A what?”

“A pashmina, not a shawl.”

He shook his head as they began to move. “Does it matter?”

“Probably not. Look. Just three more doors and we’re there.”

His gaze roamed the shadows as he did his best to shield her from view. The noises of the city—the horns and honks and general activity he took for granted—faded away as the blood pounded in his ears. Step by agonizing step they moved before she nodded toward the large brownstone that rose up five stories from the street. “We’re here. Just up these steps.”

With years of familiarity, she had the door unlocked and was through the entrance, already reaching for the blinking panel on the wall.

Campbell pressed the heavy door behind him as she tapped in several numbers on the keypad and let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Ten-digit code?”

“Yep. It’s hell on the staff, but it makes sense.”

“More than you can imagine.”

A light beep indicated the alarm was disarmed before she rekeyed the instructions to arm it. “I’ll turn it off when you leave.”

“I’m not leaving tonight.”

Abby whipped back around to face him from where she set her clutch on a small hallway table. “You can’t stay here.”

“I can and I will.” He glanced up at the two-story foyer, an ornate crystal chandelier filling the space overhead, and couldn’t hold back the grin. “I’ll sleep on the couch if you don’t have enough room.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

She waved an arm, the long sleeve of his jacket flapping around her wrist as it engulfed her hand. “It’s not decent.”

“What’s not decent? I’m a friend of the family.” The tension he’d carried for the past half hour relaxed in the face of her protest and the solid door at his back. “Besides, what do you think we’ll be doing for the next week in Paris?”

“Working.”

“Sharing a home.”

“That’s a setup. This is real.”

At her use of the word real, a different sort of tension returned, coiled in the pit of his stomach, desperate for release.

“You think so?” Before she could reply, he moved toward her, his hands on her hips as he pulled her against him. His tug on her was gentle, but he clearly caught her off guard by the way she tumbled into him.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Campbell leaned in and took.

* * *

Abby gripped Campbell’s large shoulders, the thin hallway table against her back as he pressed his body to hers. She wanted to protest—
knew
she should—but the feel of his large form against hers was too lovely to resist.

So she settled into the kiss and gave as good as she got.

His lips were firm against hers and she opened her mouth as his tongue slid in to tangle with hers. The kiss was so blatant—so carnal—she felt her grip on his neck tighten as she tried to pull him closer against her body. The heavy tuxedo jacket she still wore felt too heavy, the material hot and scratchy as the urge to strip to nothing but flesh consumed her along with his mouth.

How can I feel this way?

Thoughts—deliberate yet fleeting—drifted through her mind as the moment spun out between them.

And with it, the very real understanding that she wanted this man.

Desperately.

It was that knowledge that had her pulling away, pressing against his shoulders as she slid from his embrace.

“Abby?”

Despite their brief acquaintance, she’d seen many facets of Campbell Steele, but nothing prepared her for the raw, naked need that rode his features into harsh, craggy lines. The vivid blue of his eyes had darkened in the heat of passion and thick cords roped his neck as he stared at her.

Feminine power filled her at the proof she’d drawn such a response and the urge to walk right back into his arms and see where the moment took her—took both of them—was nearly her undoing.

A flash of light lit up the hallway through the foyer windows and pulled her attention from his face. His gaze followed hers to the door as they both realized it was only a car driving down the street, but the brief interruption was enough to break the moment.

She pointed toward the stairs. “Let me go up and make sure a guest room’s ready for you. You’re welcome to help yourself to anything in the kitchen, just there down the hall. The finger food at the benefit wouldn’t tide over a toddler. I’ll come back down and join you in a bit.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, before he simply nodded. “Thanks.”

Abby slipped his jacket off and handed it to him, then gathered up her clutch and shawl. She fought the urge to turn back and look at him, fear lighting her heels and pushing her onward up the stairs.

If she looked at him, the need to go back into his arms might be too overpowering to resist a second time.

* * *

Lucas Brown reviewed the agenda for Abigail McBane’s upcoming board meeting as the early morning London rain pattered outside his study windows. A sense of satisfaction welled in his veins and he reached for the aged Scotch at his elbow, allowing himself a second glass in celebration.

He was a man of refined tastes. Tastes he also knew how to manage, control and keep in check.

Sloppy men got drunk and careless men let their urges get the better of them.

He was neither.

Like that asshole he’d hired years ago to harass Abby in the London office. The man had taken his instructions to heart, becoming obsessed with the woman he was only meant to scare and Lucas had been forced to eliminate him.

From that moment on, he’d resolved to deal with Abby on his own. He could hire muscle, like the thug in New York, but the real work was his to handle. So he’d begun his campaign, planning and plotting, working tirelessly toward his goal.

And the past month had been the beginning of his reward.

The seven-minute lockdown on her system had gone according to plan, the information he’d painstakingly accumulated over the years all falling into place as he dug into the McBane systems, a ghost in the trillions upon trillions of bytes of data.

For seven glorious minutes, he’d played God with eighteen satellites orbiting the Earth and no one could find him.

As Lucas finished the last sip of the rich whiskey, he stared at the rain beating against the windows as the gray of early morning broke over London.

Today he’d take the next step.

* * *

Abby slipped from her dress and tried to hang it on its padded hanger, not all that surprised when her hands shook. That kiss had scrambled more than a few brain cells, but it was the shaky need that still coursed through her system that had her dropping to the small stool she kept in her closet.

The man did things to her. That was all there was to it. If she could look at it objectively—a straight case of sexual attraction—she’d be fine.

She would be fine.

She
had
to be fine.

“Get a grip, girl.” The whispered admonishment did little except make her feel stupid for talking to herself in the middle of her closet.