Forged in Smoke (Red-Hot SEALs #3)(4)
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Chapter One
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ABOARD THE ESME, anchored deep in the crystal-blue waters of Roquebrune bay, the final haunting note of a Celtic ballad lingered, echoing in the ocean-kissed air.
Eric Manheim’s cell phone vibrated twice against his hip as the note finally faded. The aborted call meant the last of his associates were on board and secreted away below. Perfect. As scheduled, the evening’s performance had concluded as the council settled in. Time to move the festivities along, off-load the guests, and get down to the real business of the night.
Claire Rendell, the reclusive Celtic singer his wife adored, offered him a small nod and placed her microphone on the piano. Inclining his head in silent appreciation, he tightened his arm around Esme’s shoulder.
“Happy anniversary, darling.” He bent to brush her satin-soft cheek with his mouth.
She tilted her face to his, her short platinum hair caressing the perfect shell of her ears, her eyes a dreamy blue and swimming with moisture. Rendell’s music always touched his wife deeply.
As the singer stepped down from the stage, applause broke out, at first just a smattering, but it quickly turned thunderous, pounding the ballroom until the sandalwood dance floor and quadruple-paned marine windows vibrated.
Esme pressed her cheek against his. “Such extravagance, darling. A private performance, plus my very own song?”
As his wife’s breath tickled his ear, Eric’s heart rate increased. The clean, fresh scent that was uniquely Esme swamped him. Instantly his breathing quickened and his body hardened. It still surprised him that the woman he’d married to cement the power, money, and holdings of their two lineages, would turn out to be the other half of his soul.
He hated usurping their anniversary celebration. But necessity overruled privacy, and Claire Rendell’s riveting and rare performance had kept ears and eyes tuned to the stage instead of the helipad at the back of the yacht, or the mysterious late arrivals.
Waving a waiter over, he snagged two crystal flutes of champagne. He handed one to Esme and then steered her into the sea of expensive jewelry, evening gowns, and tuxedos. For the next two hours they drifted through a glittering, fragrant mob of exquisitely dressed well-wishers. As they accepted countless congratulations on their first fifteen years together, or the occasional well-bred ribaldry, Eric locked down his impatience.
The men below deck weren’t going anywhere, and this camouflage above deck was key to hiding the pending session. Until recently, secrecy hadn’t been a priority. Immense wealth and power brokered a fair amount of privacy anyway, at least enough to mask the quarterly meetings. But when rumors surfaced about the alliance’s directive, and conspiracy theorists had zeroed in for closer looks, concealment had become imperative.
He’d been lucky that his turn to host the quarterly updates had fallen so close to his anniversary. What better cover for a top-secret meeting between the most powerful people on earth than a celebration with many of the most powerful people in the world in attendance?
The press cameras pointed toward the Esme wouldn’t have a clue what they were filming. And once aboard the yacht, privacy was assured. He’d spared no expense to make certain of that. From the anti-paparazzi shield, which used lasers to disrupt the recording of images, to the electronic jammers that filled curious ears with a flood of static noise, his floating mansion was preeminently secure and perfect for their agenda. Nobody would question the helicopters constantly ferrying people between the yacht and shore, not when every press rag between New York and Paris had heralded Eric and Esme’s fifteenth-anniversary spectacular as the social event of the year.
Still, by the time the final helicopter merged with the sky, ferrying the last of their staff to the glittering Monte Carlo mainland for the remainder of the evening, Eric was ready to cast off the trappings of the camouflage and get down to business. Turning from the window facing the helipad, he lifted Esme’s slender wrist to his lips.
“It’s unfortunate our anniversary got caught in these”—he glanced around the empty stateroom to make sure the two remaining staff members—the captain and cook—had left them to their privacy as instructed—“business dealings.”
“Ah well, it couldn’t be helped, darling.” She offered a tired smile. “Try not to let them keep you too long.”
Eric drew back in surprise. “You won’t be joining us?”
“Not this time.” She lifted her foot and gingerly eased off a glittering red sandal. “All those rubies and diamonds might sparkle like a Christmas tree on the dance floor, but they’re hell on the feet.” She set her bare foot down and lifted the opposite foot, slipping that shoe off as well. “Go to your meeting. I’m going to take a nice long soak in the tub.”
With one last fatigued smile she walked away, idly swinging her glittering, bejeweled shoes.
Once she’d disappeared from view, he stepped behind the ebony bar and pressed a button next to the enclosed liquor case. A narrow panel housing a button and a lever opened. The button activated a sixty-inch retractable television hidden within the bar.
He pulled the lever instead, twisting it to the right. A distinct metallic snick sounded. With a mechanical purr, the shelf slid to the right, exposing a narrow doorway and a carpeted ramp descending downward. The door closed behind him as he stepped inside. At the bottom of the ramp stood a well-lit room. There were no windows, instead three crystal chandeliers cast bright white light from corner to corner and bathed the sandalwood walls with a wet sheen.