Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Page 3

  He joined her at the breakfast bar. “I like this building. My apartment was my reward to myself after I left the Agency last year.”

  She spooned orange jasmine tea into the infuser and dropped it in the pot. “I assume the CIA pays a lot better than the FBI since you sprang for a unit with a big lake view.”

  He turned and raised that scarred brow again. Someone must have told him it looked sexy. Someone was right.

  “You forget—I’m a famous writer.”

  Okay. He’d switched back to lighthearted banter, so she responded in kind. “Of course. What was I thinking?”

  She poured the pale, fragrant brew into two cups, carried them to the living room, and handed one to him. Blowing on her tea, she observed him through the rising steam. “Were your previous books spy novels like the new one?”

  “No.” He paused and took a sip. “It’s funny, but no matter where I am, I always seem to be homesick for somewhere else. Must be a case of ‘the grass is always greener’ or something. When I was holed up in a cheap hotel in Nairobi, eavesdropping on other people’s phone conversations, I missed America. Once I got back to the States, I couldn’t seem to get Africa out of my mind. So in Africa I wrote Westerns, and in America I wrote a spy novel set in East Africa.”

  “Your previous books were Westerns?”

  “Um-hm.” He took another sip. “A couple of them were made into TV movies. I don’t suppose you saw Gunfight in Abilene?”

  “No, but I saw the ads for it. I don’t remember your name...wait a minute. You’re not Lucky Carter, are you?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a sheepish grin. “Guilty.”

  She was impressed in spite of herself. He was a genuine celebrity, at least on a minor scale. She’d guarded public figures before, but they’d never sat in her living room drinking tea.

  “No wonder you could afford your condo. You must have made a small fortune.”

  He glanced away. “Hardly a fortune, but enough to give me options.”

  “Don’t be modest. The reviewers said you were the new Louis L’Amour.”

  “Have you ever read Louis L’Amour?”

  “No, but—”

  “I rest my case. It’s no big deal.”

  “Your publisher seems to think this new book is a big deal, or they wouldn’t be planning such an elaborate tour.”

  He shrugged. “I tried to talk them out of it, but Herman convinced the boss I’m going to go from being the next Louis L’Amour to being the next Tom Clancy. I’d rather not be the next anything.”

  “Did you leave the CIA in order to spend more time writing?”

  “No.”

  The word slammed into her, and she clutched her cup with both hands.

  “I had an accident.” His tone implied whatever happened had been anything but accidental. “Afterward, my bosses didn’t want me back in the field. They were willing to keep me on but only in Langley behind a desk.”

  There was something ugly there, something she wasn’t prepared to confront. She needed to bring him forward, away from the memory.

  “You don’t think you’d make a good desk jockey?”

  She must have asked the right question, because the darkness dissipated.

  He shook his head. “I’m sure within six months I would have told some higher-up exactly where he could stick his short-sighted orders or hare-brained plan. I hate bureaucracy.”

  “Maybe that’s why you enjoyed writing Westerns. You’re a cowboy at heart.”

  He leaned forward and set his cup on the coffee table. “I never thought about it that way, but you’re probably right. That’s what I liked about fieldwork—you have to think on your feet, and you can do whatever needs to be done without someone looking over your shoulder. The bosses might not approve later, but by then it’s too late.”

  She set her cup down and shot him an appraising glance. “You’re not going to make my job easy, are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You aren’t going to just do what I tell you, even if it’s for your own good.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  She stood without breaking eye contact. “That’s not good enough. I’ve signed on as your bodyguard. That means I’ll be taking your publisher’s money to make sure nothing happens to you. I can’t do that if you take off and do whatever you want, wherever and whenever the notion strikes.”

  “You’ll just have to come with me.”

  Fighting the temptation to slap the innocent expression off his handsome face, she stepped forward. “Carter—”

  He raised a hand. “All right. No teasing. I’m glad you take your job seriously, but I’m not concerned about these so-called threats. I’ve never seen the letters. For all I know, Herman cooked them up himself. Like he said, there’s nothing dangerous in the book. I didn’t give away state secrets or blow anybody’s cover. It’s just fiction.”

  “Whether the threats are real or not doesn’t affect how I do my job, and it will be much easier with your cooperation. Will you let me take the lead when it comes to security?”

  He rose until he loomed over her. “I do know a thing or two about staying safe.” Annoyance grated in his voice. “I’ve managed to keep myself alive for a long time in some pretty dangerous situations.”

  If he thought he could intimidate her, he had a lot to learn, but she had to make him understand. Every minute of the next month depended on it. “I’m sure you have, but I can’t agree to go with you if I’m merely a decorative accessory for Herman’s publicity campaign.”

  He tilted his head and pursed his lips. “How about we agree to be partners? I won’t do anything without running it by you first, and you promise to keep me fully informed.” When she didn’t respond, his expression hardened. “That’s the best I can do. I can’t turn off fifteen years of instincts even if I want to.”

  Madelyn registered his stiff stance and tried to put herself in his place. She had to respect him as a fellow professional. In his position, she would demand no less.

  “Agreed. Partners.”

  She extended her hand and waited. He grasped it and gave a firm shake.

  “That’s settled then,” he said. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “I doubt it. I have a lot to do before Thursday morning.”

  “Me too, now that you mention it. In that case, I’ll meet you here at eight o’clock.”

  “I can meet you in the lobby.” She led the way to the door.

  “I’ll be here to help you with your luggage.”

  “Rudy can get it, if I need help.”

  “I’m sure he can, but I’ll be here.”

  She knew better than to waste a battle on something so trivial. There were sure to be occasions when she would have to push back. There was no need to start now. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

  After he left she cruised into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Exercise could wait. Suddenly she was starving.

  ****

  Madelyn had just finished stuffing the last item into her carry-on at one minute after eight on Thursday morning when her doorbell rang. She hung her purse from one shoulder, her carry-on from the other, and wheeled her large suitcase to the foyer, congratulating herself when she managed to push the handle down and open the door without either bag slipping.

  Carter stood in the hall looking comfortable and relaxed in jeans and a sport coat. He had a leather laptop bag and a large wheeled suitcase, but his was ultra high-tech. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the shiny silver metal were bullet proof. He took one look at Madelyn and reached for her carry-on.

  “Let me take that. You look like a pack mule.”

  “I can manage.” Maybe he was only trying to be chivalrous, but she couldn’t afford to show any sign of weakness. Six months in the bodyguard business had taught her how critical it was to establish proper authority at the beginning of a new assignment.

  His well-sculpted lips twisted in a wry smile, but he shrugged. “Up
to you.”

  They maneuvered down the hall, into the elevator, and out to the lobby where Herman waited by the door. Rudy, the morning doorman, rushed to take charge of the large bags.

  “Mr. Devlin, Ms. Li, let me help you. I didn’t realize you knew each other.”

  Carter smiled. “We’re old friends.”

  “Mr. Devlin is my client,” Madelyn corrected.

  Rudy gave Carter a sly wink.

  Great. Now when the book tour was over, she’d have to put up with Rudy and Manuel teasing her about Carter Devlin every chance they got.

  Carter greeted Herman. “Here we are, as promised.”

  The publicist surveyed Madelyn from her white blouse, black jacket and slacks, to her plain black flats. “You look very professional, Ms. Li.”

  “It’s not too late,” Carter said in a stage whisper. “You can still change your mind and travel as my masseuse.”

  She shot him a quelling glance. “You do know I’m carrying a gun, right?”

  He grinned, but before he could reply, Herman chimed in. “Oh, can I see it?” His brandy-colored eyes sparkled with excitement.

  She hated to burst his bubble so early in the tour, but this really had to stop. “I never draw my weapon unless I might have to shoot someone. Do you think I’ll have to shoot someone this morning?”

  A dull flush rose up Herman’s neck and crept across his balding scalp. “Uh, no, probably not. The car is out front.” He pushed the door open.

  A black Town Car waited at the curb. The black-suited driver popped the trunk and opened the rear passenger door. Rudy started toward the car with the suitcases, but Madelyn grabbed his sleeve.

  “Wait a minute. I need to check the car first.” She set down her carry-on, unzipped her purse, and removed a convex mirror attached to a telescoping rod.

  “Do you always carry one of those?” Carter asked.

  “Only when I need to.” She sent a small frown Herman’s way. “If we were taking the Phoenix car, as I requested, this wouldn’t be necessary.”

  He regarded the mirror with a delighted smile. “No problem. Do whatever you need to.”

  She extended the rod and adjusted the angle of the mirror until she could see the underside of the car clearly. It took time to make a thorough inspection but beat lying in the street. She walked around the car checking the undercarriage and wheel wells. Everything appeared to be in order until she reached the left rear tire. Something bright reflected in the mirror.

  Wires. Yellow, white, and red wires. Clean wires. A black box. Directly beneath the fuel tank. Her breath stilled and her brain froze. Then instinct and training kicked in.

  “Get back inside!” she yelled as she ran toward the men.

  Carter hesitated, but Rudy dropped the luggage with a squawk, and he and Herman bolted for the lobby door.

  “There’s a bomb.” She raced past Carter to the uniformed driver who stood with one hand on the car door handle.

  “Lady, what are you—”

  Madelyn yanked him away from the car and shoved him toward the building. “Move!”

  The man twisted around, but his expression was one of shock rather than resistance. “What?”

  “Get inside, both of you. Now!”

  When she pushed into the lobby behind Carter and the driver, she already had her cell phone out. “Rudy, don’t let anyone near that door. Keep everyone away from the glass.” It was eight-fifteen on a weekday, and the elevator had disgorged another load of briefcase-toting passengers.

  “Ms. Li, what’s going on?”

  “Please, Rudy, just do it.”

  “Madelyn, are you sure?” Carter asked in a low voice.

  “I’m sure what I saw. I can’t be sure what it is, but I know it shouldn’t be there. Can you keep an eye on the driver? He looks pretty shaken, but he may know something.”

  Carter nodded and walked over to the man. Madelyn punched the Phoenix number on speed dial and waited for Risa to pick up.

  “Risa, it’s me. We haven’t left yet. I’ve got a big problem. I need you to call Lt. Pirelli at the bomb squad and tell him to get over here ASAP with the disposal unit. There’s something under the black Town Car parked in front of my building. Then bring the Phoenix car as fast as you can and drive us to the airport. You can come back after you drop us off and sort things out with Pirelli. I’ll call him as soon as I get Mr. Devlin and Mr. Perryman through security. Park at the side of the building and call me when you’re here.”

  Her heart rate decreased as she regained control. No one will die here today, she repeated in a silent mantra as she slowed her breathing. She slipped the phone back into her purse and strode to where Rudy was arguing with several of her neighbors who were intent on walking around, over, or through him to get to the front door.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” a male voice shouted.

  Madelyn raised her hands. “Everyone, please. There’s a problem out front, but the police are on the way. You’ll be perfectly safe if you use the back service entrance. Just stay away from the front of the building. Rudy, could you please show them the way?”

  “This way, folks,” Rudy called out as he headed past the elevator toward the back of the building. The elevator door opened again, and a new group of passengers looked momentarily confused but soon fell in step behind the others.

  Madelyn joined Carter, Herman, and the driver, who was mopping his brow with a white handkerchief.

  “What do you know about this?” she demanded.

  “Lady, I got no idea what you’re talking about. When I checked in last night, dispatch notified me to be here at seven forty-five this morning for a trip to the airport.”

  Carter stepped forward. “Do you keep the cars when you’re off-duty?”

  “Of course not. What do you think, they’re crazy? I picked it up at the company lot this morning, just like always. What’s going on here?”

  Madelyn glanced toward the door. Were they far enough away to avoid flying glass if the bomb blew? “I’m not sure. There’s a tangle of fresh wires attached to some kind of box under the fuel tank. You don’t know anything about that?”

  “No, I’m telling you. I don’t want to get blown up any more than you do.” He twisted his chauffeur’s cap in his hands, and beads of sweat dotted his brow.

  “Do you have a business card and ID?”

  “Sure.” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a card and his driver’s license.

  She scanned them both, slipped the card into her pocket, and returned the license. She would ask Risa to run a check on him as soon as she got back to the office. “Thank you. We have to leave for the airport in a few minutes, but I need you to wait here for the police.”

  “I couldn’t go off and leave the car. The boss would kill me. I need this job.”

  Her phone buzzed, and she answered. “We’ll be right out.” She turned to Carter and Herman. “The car’s here. Let’s go.”

  “Are you going to leave everything like this?” Carter gestured toward the driver and a new group of confused residents that had just stepped out of the elevator.

  She exhaled in exasperation. “Don’t tell me spies always stick around to clean up their own messes.”

  “This is different.”

  There was no time to be patient, but she gave it a shot. “I’ve told you before, you’re my client. Your safety is my number one priority. We can take care of everything else later. Now let’s go.”

  She left the limo driver with strict instructions to stay away from the door and wait for the police. Then she shuttled Carter and Herman out the back door to another black Town Car waiting at the curb with Risa holding the door. Carter loaded the luggage into the trunk then climbed into the back seat with Herman, while Madelyn joined Risa in front.

  Although Risa had aced the tactical driving course for personal protection agents, Madelyn didn’t relax until they were cruising up I-90 toward O’Hare. Even then, she checked the side and rearview mirrors
regularly for a tail. She didn’t see anything suspicious, but that was small comfort. All her previous jobs had been routine bodyguard assignments, a day or two with a celebrity or businessman visiting the city. She had never had a job with an overt threat to her client before. They weren’t even out of Chicago, and someone had already tried to blow Carter up.

  Chapter Three

  Carter shifted his weight and tried to stretch his legs without blocking the aisle. He hated airplanes. Really hated them. He had never enjoyed flying, but now it was torture. He could ignore the discomfort, but for the past year ugly memories assailed him every time he stepped from the jetway into the crowded metal box of the cabin.

  He closed his eyes, but the pungent odor of jet fuel and muffled roar of engines jolted him back to the nightmarish medevac flight out of Cairo. He’d been strapped to a gurney with an IV dripping life-saving fluids and drugs into his veins, coherent enough to be aware of his surroundings but too doped up to communicate his pain—both physical and emotional.

  In time his body had healed, but the rush of memories invariably led to the filthy, cramped cell in Yemen where he’d been held for weeks with a suppurating bullet wound in his leg, never knowing whether the next savage beating might be his last. When rescue finally came, his battered mind registered relief, but it was too late for the woman who had trusted him to keep her safe—the woman he’d failed.

  He thrust the image from his mind, at least for now. During his first few months back in the States, guilt had gnawed at his sanity. Although he’d eventually made peace with it, the ache persisted.

  He glanced at Madelyn. Her eyes were closed as she listened to music through tiny ear buds, but the sight of her soothed his restlessness. He’d been drawn to her since the moment he spotted her in the laundry room several months ago. There was something solemn yet serene about her, even when she was folding sheets. For the first time in months, he’d felt a spark.

  He’d made little progress getting close to her, but like any good spy, he understood the value of persistence. He’d decided to approach her like a clandestine op—with sufficient patience and attention, he would eventually make his target.