Blonde Demolition Page 9

  "We'll need ID and credit cards to do that," he said.

  "Good point. Guess we'll just drive back here when the event is over."

  "Now. Back to the library to find a place to get our outfits."

  She began to walk back the way they came before Trey stopped her. "It's great to have you back."

  Cal gazed at the numbers on his pad of paper. Ever since he'd worked for the prosecutor's office, he'd carried one. His wife used to tease him about it. The habit had never died.

  The notepad contained a number for a doctor and a number for an orphanage in South Jersey. Marsha's mother had provided as much information as she could. His daughter had been born in a South Jersey hospital. He had the birth date and the name Marsha gave her before giving her up for adoption.

  A few phone calls netted him the name of the orphanage where she most likely would have been sent.

  The cordless phone sat on his lap as he reclined in his ratty chair. The one his wife had hated, but still let him keep.

  I wonder…

  He couldn't decide which was more important right now. Should I get the second opinion first? Or should I try to track down my child?

  Glancing around the old-fashioned room, he mulled over his choices. His gaze rested on his wedding picture. He would have taken it off the wall to get a closer look, but he was too tired to walk. Too tired to do anything other than gaze across the room.

  He sighed because he needed to make this decision.

  The cancer would eat away at him. He'd lived a long life. He wasn't afraid to die. Seeing his wife, Zelda, would please him.

  He had to find his child first. Even if he just saw her once, he could die a happy man.

  He picked up the phone.

  He'd hugged her, Mallory thought as she disembarked from the limousine they'd rented. He'd never been one for open displays of affection. Despite that, he'd been a tender and considerate lover. Well, when that was what she needed.

  In the past, he'd let her set the pace of their lovemaking. He'd given her what she needed, no more. No less either.

  She didn't think he was the same person out of bed that she had left...or maybe he just wanted her to think that.

  Trey appeared by her side and held out his hand. She took it and he helped her out of the Lincoln Town Car. Not fancy, but enough that it said they had money.

  Just the image they wanted to portray. They didn't want to be donors to the cause, whatever that was. They wanted in on the action. In the thick of it, so they'd know how to prevent it.

  That and a little reconnaissance work since Stanley kept a hotel room there like an apartment. He may keep records.

  Trey tucked her arm under his and walked her to the Grand Ballroom. He leaned into her. "You look magnificent."

  "Th-thanks."

  Trey didn't throw away compliments either. He had her off balance and her discomfort level was high. What is he trying to do?

  Noise from the chandeliered ballroom assailed her as Trey opened the door. He put a hand on the small of her back. She slid into the larger area and stopped just inside the door.

  Ice sculptures lined tables along the wall. White tuxedoed waiters handed out glasses of champagne. The entire gala scene took Mallory's breath away.

  With her childhood spent in orphanages and foster homes, cotillions and coming-out parties were foreign to her. She'd been to one birthday party her whole life and that hadn't been fancy dress. She wondered if everyone would see her as the fake that she was.

  Playing a vagrant or drug dealer had come much easier to her than this. What if I pick up the wrong fork?

  Trey spoke just above a murmur. "Shall we dance or find our table?"

  He'd spent nights talking to her like that, soothing the young, inexperienced creature she'd been.

  She hated to admit that the sound put a thrill through her. "Table. Then see if we can find Paul Stanley."

  "Nothing like jumping into it."

  "We've got a job to do, Trey. Let's get it done and do it our way."

  "No reason we can't enjoy ourselves."

  He pulled out her chair and sat after she studied him for a moment. She was ready to find that penthouse, to stop that man from killing anyone else. He seemed ready to party.

  Settling next to her, he adjusted the tails on his tuxedo. "Champagne?"

  "Trey, stop. Let's get serious."

  "Maybe we've been too serious."

  Her anger spiked. How could he be so cavalier? "We have a mission. And I don't appreciate you jeopardizing it."

  "Smile, babe. Put your hand on my arm. We're being observed by a large man who could probably play defense for the New York Giants. All by himself."

  She did as he directed and an electric jolt shot up her arm. He'd shaved and, for once, it didn't grow back instantly. His hair was pulled back. He'd refused a haircut. Rich people could be eccentric, he'd argued.

  "Smile."

  A fake smile burst onto her face as the huge man Trey had described stopped by their table. At that time, no one else sat there, so he had to be targeting them.

  She glanced up at him as if she couldn't possibly take her eyes off her husband.

  "Are you Mr. and Mrs. Vincenzo?"

  His accent was pure Brooklyn. Was he a reject from one of those mob movies?

  Trey stood. The man dwarfed him, height and width. Mallory would still put her money on Trey. When he wanted to, he could be a street fighter.

  Her pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the anticipation of making the connection to Stanley so early in the night.

  "May we help you?" Trey held out his hand, a predatory grin on his face.

  She looked away. Her smile held back a laugh. The large man didn't notice or didn't react.

  "Your presence is requested after da gala. On da Executive Level, Room 7003."

  He left a card between them on the table and strode away. Trey sat and perused the card. "We've been noticed."

  She took the card from his hand and dropped it into her clutch purse. "Good. Now we can get up there before the party starts."

  Trey shook his head. "We'll be noticed in a bad way."

  She couldn't argue with that. Her eagerness clouded her judgment. She just wanted this assignment over so she could get back to her life. "What's your plan?"

  "To dance with my lovely wife."

  He stood, offered her his hand. When she obliged, he whisked her to the dance floor for three songs. The bandleader announced that the first course was being served.

  Trey led her back to the table. "We'll finish this later."

  Trey couldn't take his eyes off Mallory through the whole dinner. He wasn't pretending his fascination for her. In the five years they'd been apart, she'd ripened. Her curves were softer. She had wisdom in her eyes, not just the bluster of youth. She'd be thirty-five now—a woman, complete and ready to start her life.

  All the men now seated at the table noticed her and so had the women. Mallory seemed oblivious to the friction she was causing. She remained the true professional he'd trained. Her mind was on their business.

  The black dress hugged her hips and dipped low enough to tease anyone who wanted a glimpse of her cleavage.

  And he wanted more. Instead, they had a job first.

  The table cleared for a slow dance.

  "We need to find out what room is his," Trey said.

  Mallory looked around. "We know where we're going."

  "Yes, but that probably isn't the one he keeps here."

  "Good point. I could ask at the desk."

  Her promise of cleavage might yield the information. "No, they'd probably report that to him. We aren't ready to tip our hand that much."

  "Plan?" she said.

  "You distract the desk clerk, while I look over his shoulder."

  "You don't think he'll notice such an imposing figure?"

  "You forget, I can be invisible."

  "Not in a black tux."

  "Especially in a black tux. Especi
ally when you're charming him."

  "I'm not sure I have any charm."

  His gaze dipped to her chest. "Just enough. Lean forward when you talk to him."

  "I'm—"

  "Not using your physical attributes? Just this once. Mal. We're rogue agents, remember? No backup. We need to use what we have."

  She looked him over and then her glance dropped down to her chest. "You mean what I have." A frown creased her brow while she thought about it.

  He knew she'd see the need.

  "Okay, I'll head to the ladies' room before I meet you out there."

  She stood and excused herself to the rest of the table. When she glanced at Trey, he smiled like a lovesick husband.

  Not far from the truth.

  There was, of course, a line for the ladies' room, so Mallory waited a few minutes, then went to the lobby.

  Trey leaned on one of the stuffed chairs. To any observer his posture would be casual—his arms crossed over his chest and one ankle resting on the other. She knew he could spring like a cat at any moment.

  Women walked by and noticed Trey. He didn't seem to see them, didn't realize how striking he could be. The black of the tuxedo brought out the sharp edges of his eye color.

  "I missed you terribly," he said.

  He pulled her into an embrace and pecked her on the cheek.

  "Let's not go overboard. I may get ill."

  His deep chuckle rumbled into her ear. "I'm not that good an actor."

  "Oh, yes you are."

  He acted as if he'd loved her for many years. The sting of that had her tugging herself away from him. He'd hurt her with the lie about his feelings once. She didn't want that to happen again. They had a job to do.

  "Shall we?"

  He nodded and followed her to the front desk.

  "Excuse me," Mallory said.

  A young man in a burgundy suit said, "May I help you?"

  "I'm looking for a friend. I know he's on the seventh floor, but I can't remember the room number."

  She turned on a high wattage smile and leaned onto the desk. The man smiled at her, obviously admiring the view. His gaze never met hers.

  Men could be so easy.

  Trey was in her peripheral vision at the end of the desk. No one occupied the terminal at that end. If that was because of a bathroom break, they had mere minutes.

  "I can't tell you a room number, but I can make a call for you."

  "Oh, really? I wanted to surprise him." She winked. "You know. We haven't seen each other in a long time."

  "I'm sorry, ma'am. It's policy. We protect our guest's privacy."

  She pouted, not something she did on a regular basis, so the gesture felt odd. "Really? That's a shame." She put her hand on the man's arm. "I so wanted to see him while I was in town."

  Trey moved away. Hopefully he'd gotten the information.

  "I could call."

  Mallory's pout turned to smile. "Never mind. I'll find another way up there. Wouldn't want you to lose your job."

  "Thanks, ma'am. Have a nice evening."

  Mallory sauntered away, swiveling her hips. She knew full well he watched her. She met Trey at the elevator, out of sight of the front desk.

  "Got fries with that shake?" he asked.

  His smile vanished. His face was a study in seriousness. Gone was the playful man of moments ago. She often wondered if he had switches somewhere.

  She'd been all over his body and hadn't found any. The idea of him naked made her warm. Why does he do this to me? Damn. "Did you get the room number?"

  "Yep, shall we keep dancing?" His grave expression belied the teasing in his voice.

  "Shouldn't we go up? Let's just get this over with."

  He shook his head and led her back to the ballroom. He winked at the front desk clerk as they went by. Mallory used all of her self-control not to stomp on his foot.

  No wink-wink tonight. Or ever.

  Trey didn't stop at the table. Instead, he brought her right to the dance floor for a slow song. She tried to keep room for the Holy Spirit, as instructed by the nuns at her orphanage. Trey was having none of it.

  "Relax," he murmured. "We're supposed to be madly in love. Remember?"

  She remembered being in love. From those heady days of their first case, to the time Trey suggested she stay the night. Her body tingled with the feelings the memory brought forth.

  God, I loved him...body, soul and heart.

  When she'd left him, all of those things hurt with an ache she didn't think she'd ever forget.

  She took a deep breath and wedged herself into him. "That better?"

  He hardened against her thigh.

  "Now stare at my eyes," he whispered in her ear. "As if there is no one else in the room."

  "You'd think you knew all about being in love."

  His gaze tore a hole through her. She'd gotten past that façade and hurt him.

  "What?"

  "Never mind. Let's just play pretend tonight." He spun her around and then brought her back close to him.

  This time she didn't resist. She'd do it for her country.

  CHAPTER 14

  Trey leaned in one corner of the elevator, and Mallory was jammed next to him. She held her body stiff, did not lean into him.

  His fingers ached to touch her, to let her know he didn't fake the affection. His arms longed to surround her. His body wanted to sink into hers. How would he ever convince her?

  She kept him at a distance.

  The car was full of partiers going up to Paul Stanley's suite. The scent of sweat mixed with champagne.

  The usual round of speeches had ensued after dancing and dining. Lots of people patting each other on the back.

  Mallory had been quiet through most of it.

  Trey's heart still stung at her jab at him. How could she have not known how he felt?

  He kicked himself. Because he'd said the words at all the wrong times, like when they were in bed. A guy would say anything to get a woman there. Not that he'd needed that to get Mallory in his bed. She'd seemed more than willing.

  If she'd loved me, why did she pack while I was gone and leave without any warning?

  When this was all over, he would sit her down and get those answers.

  For now, he had the case. He had to focus.

  The elevator doors opened. Mallory sighed as the people filed off into a large room across the hall lit with more candles than he was sure the fire marshal would allow.

  "Nice fire hazard," she said.

  "For tonight, you aren't a firefighter. Just a rich trophy wife."

  Her eyebrows knit and she looked at him as if he had said the oddest thing she'd ever heard. She mouthed the word trophy.

  He took her arm, leading her the same way the crowd went.

  "What contest did you lose?"

  He rolled his eyes. She still doesn't think she's beautiful. How can she not know?

  "Forget it. Just be a wife. You entertain them with your wit and I'll search the other rooms around the suite."

  She stopped and tugged her arm away from him. "Why do you get to search them?"

  "Because if you let Paul Stanley look down your dress as he will probably try to, he won't know I'm gone. He won't even know I exist."

  "They aren't that great."

  She looked like a petulant child at that moment, her arms crossed over her just-the-right-size breasts.

  They fit in his hand. They fit in his mouth. They fit in his life. The last thought stopped him. That wasn't what Mallory wanted. He shrugged off any forever ideas and focused on Mallory. "They are wonderful. The men at the table knew it. So did most of the women. You should have seen the venom in their eyes."

  She looked at him puzzled. "I never knew you had such an active fantasy life."

  "Mallory, trust me on this. Insinuate that you want a larger role in the organization and we'll have made a contact. He'll probably try to get you alone."

  Her shoulders dropped. "You are right. You men a
re so easy."

  He tugged her to him as someone glanced out the door of the suite. "Play along," he said. Then he covered her mouth with his.

  The memories came back in a rush. All of their successful collars. All of the nights spent in bed celebrating. All of their time together.

  No one else had demanded so much from him, physically and mentally. Maybe even emotionally.

  His head spun from the glory of kissing her.

  "There are rooms for that," someone said.

  Mallory pulled away, a sufficient flush on her cheeks to be considered embarrassment.

  She cleared her throat. "My husband is incorrigible."

  The guard didn't see the steel in her eyes. He glanced at the huge Hawaiian man at the door. "Can you blame me?"

  The man ignored his question and gestured for them to enter the suite.

  Trey escorted Mallory in that direction even though she stiffened at his touch.

  "I don't have any freakin' idea where she is," Booth said into the phone.

  His contact, Mr. Big, sighed. "I don't either, but we need to find her. Did you not put that tracking device on her car?"

  "She wasn't supposed to go anywhere for the next week, you moron." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You sent her ex-partner here. Now she's run off with him."

  "Well, I didn't expect them to go off tilting at windmills. I thought they'd stay in the safe house."

  "Idiot. You have two highly trained agents. You really think they're going to sit tight and wait until the heat is off. No way. Even I can figure that out."

  Booth paced in his kitchen, the secure cell phone pressed to his ear. He didn't know how it had all spun out of control. The bomb. The bomb in the beer trailer had started it all.

  He had known about Mallory's past. He'd known what she'd done for the government. He'd known what she would do as soon as she saw that bomb.

  Why did they pull her out of retirement now? And how did that affect his orders?

  "Miscalculation on my part. I didn't think Mallory would come out of retirement."

  "And now she has and God knows where she is in this state."