Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(80)

“Establish a code word with Ludmilla. If she says it, the guys jump into action,” Davy said patiently. “Simple. Stop being such a wet blanket. Here, I’ll download the guy’s resume. I brought the disc—”

“No!” Nick lunged to stop him from inserting the disc into the computer’s drive, feeling like an idiot. “I’m, uh, using that monitor.”

Davy peered at it, and started to grin when he saw the blue-toned map of Seattle glowing on the screen, and the single icon blinking on it. “I see,” he murmured. “That’s her, huh? In Bothell? Sweet.”

“What?” Seth loped over and lunged across the table to squint at the screen. “Do my eyes deceive me? This controlling bastard is monitoring his girlfriend with X-Ray Specs? Where’d you put the beacon burr, Romeo? Her bra?”

“Her cell,” Nick admitted reluctantly.

Seth crowed with delight. “Classic. Bet she doesn’t know, right?” He studied Nick’s stiff, frozen face, and laughed harder. “Of course not.”

“He’s got it bad,” Davy commented. “This is how it always starts.”

“What’s her name, damn it?” Margot fussed. “We need to know what to write on the seating tag!”

“Becca,” Nick said shortly.

Margot waited. “Just Becca?” she prompted. “No last name?”

“Just Becca,” he muttered.

Margot frowned. “What, is she in hiding? On the run from the law?” She chewed on her lip, her multicolored eyes getting very big in her freckled face. “Oh, my God. Is this the girl you saved from that mafiya guy? The girl you found naked in the swimming pool? No way!”

Seth whooped gleefully. “Oh, man. This is awesome. True love, at gunpoint. It never fails.”

“Oh, God. I have got to go call Raine and Liv and Erin, right away,” Margot said. “This is so juicy. I love it. I just love it.”

“Would you guys all just leave me the f*ck alone?” Nick’s voice was plaintive.

Davy gave him a swat on the back that just about broke three of his ribs. “No way, dude,” he said cheerfully. “Get used to it.”

Chapter

18

B ecca circled the Crystal Ballroom slowly. The banquet was a black tie affair, and the women in evening gowns glittered and shone.

So far, so good. No job-threatening disasters loomed on her horizon yet. The Meet-And-Greet in the Sunburst Room had gone smoothly, the jazz trio was playing a sentimental tune, the sommeliers and wait staff were doing their appointed jobs, the trays of lime sorbet to follow the fish were starting to circle, the big band was set up and ready to go for the dancing, everyone was in place, everyone knew what time it was.

Fifteen more minutes, and it would be time to start mobilizing the coffee and dessert, and get ready for the speechifying. The sheer volume of details to keep track of made it almost possible for her not to think about Nick. But oh, wow. She was going to see him tonight. The consciousness of her secret date gave her a constant toe-curling pleasure, like a wild coffee high.

She was so absorbed in trying to quantify the feeling, she almost ran right into the guy as he strode through the room. She reeled to the side, turning her head away with a gasp. Oh, God. The Spider’s guest. Zhoglo’s mysterious business partner. The country club guy.

She turned, slowly, and ventured another peek, just to be sure.

He was in profile, looking trim and good in his tux, sliding into his seat with what looked like a murmured apology at one of the big VIP tables, next to a handsome blonde woman with a tight smile. He lifted his glass of red wine in response to something that she said.

She remembered him lifting his glass, on the island. Those glittering eyes fixed on her. The clink of glasses. Wine the color of blood.

To beauty. And desires fulfilled.

A sinkhole opened in the bottom of her mind. Beneath it yawned a hellish abyss.

Becca stumbled across the room, putting distance between them. She grabbed the edge of a table, fighting nausea. A wave of nasty faintness jangled through her body. Her ears roared, her eyes went dark. Cold sweat. Icy hands. She wanted to double over. Staying conscious was a struggle.

The reality of what had happened on the island just a few short days ago came smashing back. It had been lurking there all along, ready to pounce, destroying her fragile new equilibrium.

She could not faint. Could not. She had to get a grip. Had. To.

“Becca?” Marla’s voice was sharp. “What on earth is the matter with you? Are you ill?”

Becca wiped her clammy forehead, and peeked again. His glance swept over her without snagging on her. Thank God for the shorter, fluffier hair and the face-concealing, black-framed glasses.

Becca put her back to him. “Marla?” she whispered. “The guy behind me who just sat down at the VIP table? Six-two, black tux, late forties, gray temples? Next to the old lady with the dowager’s hump and the diamonds? Who is he?”

Marla’s eyes narrowed, and her finely shaped brows snapped together. “Becca. This is hardly the time for—ouch! Hey!”

Becca had seized her wrist, and was gripping it with furious strength, heedless of her fingernails. “Who is he?”

Marla jerked her arm away, scowling. “That’s Dr. Richard Mathes. He’s a famous thoracic surgeon. He’s giving the farewell speech for Harrison tonight! You knew that, Becca! He was late, because of some medical emergency.”