Unwritten Rules (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 1) Read online

  His idea to hire her as a bodyguard had been a flash of brilliance, although at the time he’d looked at it only as an opportunity to spend time with her. This whole business of death threats baffled him. When Herman had first told him about the letters, he’d never considered the possibility that the threats might be real. He still couldn’t believe the tangle of wires was a bomb.

  Who would want to kill him now? There was nothing to gain. Last year, maybe, but not now. It would have been much easier to kill him in Mogadishu, or Nairobi, or Cairo. Dead bodies turned up under murky circumstances in those cities every day. If they were unidentifiable, so much the better. A dead American might raise questions the authorities didn’t want answered.

  So why now? He was out of the spy business, retired. All he wanted was to forget the worst of the past and forge a new life in the present.

  He stretched again. Speculation was a waste of time. Madelyn had called the head of the bomb squad from the departure lounge, but Lt. Pirelli hadn’t been able to tell her anything. She’d promised to call back once they reached the hotel in Washington. The wires would probably turn out to be nothing.

  He glanced at her again. With her smooth brow and slight smile, she appeared to be lost in a pleasant dream. Maybe she was just better at releasing tension than he was. He should take out his computer and try to work, but it would be pointless. He wanted to go running or, better yet, pull on a pair of gloves for a quick sparring session in the ring at the gym. That would burn up his excess energy. The last thing he wanted was to sit for three hours in a confined space with a couple hundred other people next to an alluring woman who made a point of ignoring him.

  He fidgeted in his seat and stared past her out the window. It was going to be a long flight.

  ****

  At Washington’s Reagan National Airport, the Normandy Press travel department had arranged another car and driver, but Madelyn dismissed them. From now on, anything she could control, she would. Carter and Herman could like it or lump it. She had a job to do.

  “But the invoice has already gone to Accounting,” Herman complained.

  “They’ll figure it out. If you call them now and cancel the cars for the rest of the trip, we can avoid this in the future.”

  He sputtered but followed her to the rental car counter where she signed for the car Risa had reserved.

  “Have you got a chauffeur’s cap in that magic purse too?” Carter asked when she pulled out the telescoping mirror.

  “No, but I’ve got a nice, big gun, so behave yourself.”

  Carter laughed, but Herman followed her around the car, leaning over her shoulder to peek at the mirror. She had to bite her lip to keep from giving him a sharp jab in the solar plexus with her elbow, along with an order to back off.

  He’s just excited, she told herself. Don’t forget, he’s a civilian and a client.

  “It’s clean,” she pronounced after finishing her check.

  Herman climbed into the back seat, but Carter opened the front passenger door.

  “Clients ride in back,” she reiterated.

  “Not me. I won’t fit.”

  She ran her gaze from his toes to his teasing blue eyes. “You’ll fit.”

  “Maybe just this once.” He gave the front door a gentle push until the latch clicked then opened the back door and climbed in.

  Herman chattered about schedules and contracts all the way to the heart of the capital, but Madelyn tuned him out and concentrated on the scenery. Everything was lush and green in mid-September. The trees wouldn’t turn for weeks. The closer they got to the National Mall, the more official buildings they passed. This was what she remembered most about Washington—block after block of massive, white buildings.

  She’d grown up in a city and lived in an even bigger one now, but the picturesque skyline of San Francisco and the skyscrapers of Chicago lacked the official muscle of Washington. Thousands of workers poured into the city every day to hide inside the huge white edifices, toiling away on important, classified projects. No one ever seemed to relax, and she never got the sense that anyone actually lived here.

  She drove down Constitution Avenue past the soaring white obelisk of the Washington Monument and turned north before catching a glimpse of the White House through the trees. One more turn past Lafayette Park brought them to the Italianate portico of one of the city’s most exclusive hotels. She had to hand it to Normandy Press; they had pulled out all the stops for this tour.

  She insisted on parking the car herself then returned to the lobby. After Herman checked them in, a bellman loaded the luggage onto a wheeled brass cart and escorted them to the top floor. Madelyn and Carter had adjacent rooms, and Herman was two doors down. She followed the bellman into the first room and set her carry-on bag on the high, half-canopied bed.

  She’d never slept in such an exquisite room. The beige and cream toile linens were opulent, yet subtle and traditional. When the bellman pulled back the draperies and opened the French doors onto a small balcony, she gasped. Shoving a couple of bills into his hand, she hurried to the balcony as soon as the door closed.

  Stepping out, she marveled at the view. Every VIP in Washington must be out of town if the hotel had given her a room like this. She gazed across the treetops directly to the White House. Rising behind it was the needle of the Washington Monument. It had to be the most iconic view in all D.C.

  A muffled pounding pulled her from her reverie. Assuming it was the bellman at the door, she walked back into the room. As she neared the bathroom, she realized the pounding was coming from next door.

  “Madelyn, open up,” a male voice called through the wall.

  She’d been too impressed by the room to notice the cream-colored door in the wall. Connecting rooms were the best way to ensure she could reach Carter quickly in case of emergency, but they offered minimal privacy. Establishing boundaries with him was still a work in progress.

  The pounding resumed. She unlocked the door and swung it open to find him standing with his hand on the knob of his own door. He smiled and sauntered in without waiting for an invitation.

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  She couldn’t help smiling in return. “It’s amazing. Are you sure you’re not Tom Clancy?”

  “Not yet, but I have to admit, I could get used to this.”

  He crossed the room to the balcony, and she followed. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the wrought iron railing, bringing his head closer to the level of hers. Neither spoke for a few minutes then he straightened.

  “Did you call your friend at the bomb squad yet?”

  The bomb. She’d completely forgotten it. Her heart skipped a beat. “When would I have had a chance to do that? You started banging on the wall the minute I got into the room.”

  A crease appeared between his brows, and he took a half step back. “Take it easy. I just want to put the whole bomb thing behind us. I’ve got enough to worry about without that. I hate big parties, and I’m not looking forward to the reception tonight.”

  Heat surged into her cheeks. She shouldn’t have snapped at him. It wasn’t his fault she’d slipped up. “I’m sorry. It should have been the first thing on my mind. I’ll call him now.” She grabbed her phone and punched in the number. After a quick exchange, she ended the call. She wasn’t sure what she had hoped to hear, but this wasn’t it.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The bomb was fake.”

  “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

  She slipped the phone back into her purse. “I’m not disappointed it wasn’t a real bomb. I’m disappointed I couldn’t tell the difference. I created a scene for nothing.”

  “Give yourself a break. You did your job exactly right. You saw something that wasn’t supposed to be there and got everyone out of the way. No one expects you to be a demolitions expert. What was it anyway?”

  “A bunch of wires connected to an alarm clock attached to a black box. It was supposed to look l
ike a bomb, but there were no explosives.”

  “Maybe it had nothing to do with us. Maybe the last passenger in that car was some politician. You know Chicago politics.”

  She shook her head. “I doubt it. The wires were too bright and clean to have been there long.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll probably never know.”

  “You’re right, but I hate question marks and loose ends.”

  Carter shrugged. “After a while you learn to accept them. As much as you may hate it, you never get all the answers.”

  “But how will I face Rudy again? I probably scared him to death.”

  “I’m sure it was the highlight of Rudy’s week. You made him a hero. Now he’ll be able to tell Manuel all about the danger and how he led the residents to safety.”

  “Maybe.” She appreciated his attempt to make her feel less foolish, but it was a wasted effort.

  “At least you aren’t the one who has to wear a tux tonight,” he said, changing the subject.

  “You don’t like to dress up?” An image of James Bond flashed into her mind as she envisioned Carter in a tuxedo.

  His lips twisted in a grimace. “I never even wear a tie if I can avoid it.”

  “Well you can’t avoid it tonight. I’m sure Herman will insist.”

  He gave a nod of resignation. “I’ve got my marching orders. How about you?”

  “I need to see the manager and check out the venue for this evening.” She glanced at her watch.

  “Can I come with you?”

  “No.” She shooed him toward the connecting door. “Don’t you have something you need to do this afternoon?”

  “I should be working.”

  “Good. Then go work.”

  “I’m stuck on a scene.”

  “Then watch TV or take a nap.”

  “Maybe I’ll go to the gym.”

  “I’m sorry but this hotel doesn’t have one. They have an arrangement with an athletic club nearby, but I’ve got things to do and you can’t go out by yourself.” She couldn’t keep the exasperation from her voice.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. I have to be with you whenever you leave your room.” She met his stony blue gaze. “You promised to let me do my job. Remember?”

  He glanced toward his room and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, do what you have to, and I’ll see if I can get some work done.”

  “I’ll knock on your door a little before seven-thirty, and we’ll go down together. The guests are supposed to arrive at seven, but Herman wants us to make a grand entrance.”

  Carter rolled his eyes upward and muttered something she couldn’t quite make out.

  “You’ll have to get used to being the center of attention. This is just the beginning.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  She clucked her tongue in mock sympathy, closed the door behind him, picked up her leather-bound notebook, and headed to the manager’s office.

  Two hours later, she was back in her room. The manager had been extremely helpful. He’d shown her the stately, walnut-paneled room where the reception would be held. One half was furnished with tables and chairs where guests could sit with their drinks and plates of food from the buffet, and the other was open for mingling. For at least the first two hours, Carter would hold court there with her at his side. The manager had also allowed her to tour the kitchen, meet with the chef, and review the employee files of the serving staff. Because the hotel was accustomed to hosting functions with Washington movers and shakers and foreign dignitaries, the manger was no stranger to discreet security requirements.

  Madelyn kicked off her shoes and slipped out of her clothes into one of the oversized white terry robes hanging in the bathroom. She picked up the folder Herman had given her, padded over to the plump wing chair, and propped her feet up on the ottoman. Herman had provided the guest list for the reception, and she’d asked Risa to research the names. It was a veritable Who’s Who of members of the intelligence community, politicians, and the local press. She didn’t know whether Carter had a lot of friends in Washington, or if Herman was determined to make the biggest possible splash with this book. Probably both. She familiarized herself with every name and tried to commit them to memory. The fake bomb in Chicago was still a huge question mark, but she had a job to do and she intended to do it well.

  At six-thirty, she went into the bathroom to take a shower. By seven-fifteen, she had pinned up her hair, finished her make-up, and slipped into the backless black gown she’d chosen specifically for this sort of occasion. The high slit in the hem allowed for adequate movement, and the beaded jacket covered her holstered Glock. It was fashionable, yet practical. She had checked the gun in her luggage for the flight and would prefer not to carry it at all, but it was a part of the job, and tonight was the first official function of the tour. She would have to get used to wearing it again because it would be a necessary part of her wardrobe for the next few weeks.

  She picked up a small black evening bag containing the other essentials for the evening—cell phone, room key, and lipstick. After checking her appearance in the bathroom mirror one last time, she stepped into the hall and closed the door. She could have knocked on the connecting door to Carter’s room, but she wanted to reinforce the concepts of separation and privacy.

  She gave his door a sharp rap. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes when the door opened. She’d never been prone to hyperbole, but the only word that popped into her brain was spectacular. His black tuxedo and snowy white shirt looked as though they’d been custom tailored on Savile Row. For all she knew, they had. His dark hair still curled from the shower, and his blue eyes twinkled wickedly. He looked every inch the dashing, debonair spy-about-town.

  His eyes rounded when he saw her. “Wow.” The heat in his gaze nearly singed her flesh.

  “Yes.” The word slipped from her lips, as soft as a sigh. She’d never placed much value on the power of instant physical attraction, maybe because she’d never experienced it like this before. She suddenly realized she’d forgotten to breathe. This couldn’t be good.

  “You look fantastic.”

  Madelyn recognized pure male hunger, even if it was usually directed at someone else. This time it was focused on her. She swallowed hard. “Um, thanks. Shall we go?”

  He offered his arm with a flourish. “At your service.”

  “I’m supposed to be your employee, not your date.”

  “And I’m supposed to be a gentleman spy, not some hack writer who would rather be wearing shorts and sitting in the stands at Wrigley Field. Go with me on this one.”

  She acquiesced and directed him to the ballroom where Herman waited at the door nervously pulling his bow tie.

  “Carter, Ms. Li, you look splendid.” He glanced at the guests drinking and chatting in the room behind him. “We have a wonderful turnout. The party is going to be a huge success.”

  Carter’s disgruntled expression almost ruined the elegant effect of his attire. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.” He placed his hand at the small of Madelyn’s back to guide her into the room but stopped when his fingers met the hard outline of her gun. Leaning down, he murmured, “Are you sure that’s necessary here?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I’m not armed.”

  “You’re not supposed to be. We’ve been over this before.”

  “The bomb was a fake.”

  “Yes, but I’m still your bodyguard, and we don’t know if there are other threats. Now smile and greet your guests. We’re working tonight. Remember?”

  “I don’t think I like this,” he muttered.

  “Sorry, but you’ll have to get used to it.”

  Someone tugged on her sleeve, and she turned to find Herman at her elbow with dapper, gray-haired man.

  “Ms. Li, I’d like you to meet Oscar Harrelson, the books editor for the Washington Post.”

  She smiled a
nd offered the man her hand.

  While Carter and the editor discussed his book, Madelyn scanned the room, observing the other guests and trying to match faces to the bios Risa had developed. Across the room, a ripple of movement ran through the crowd as a tall man with an olive complexion, black hair, and a thick black mustache strode toward them. He wore black tie like every other man in the room, but an air of danger swirled around him like a burnoose in a sandstorm. It must be Syed al-Hawari. His was the only Middle Eastern name on the guest list. Risa hadn’t been able to find out anything about him except that he was listed as an attaché at the Egyptian Embassy. That title could cover anything from a low level flunky to the highest-level spy.

  Madelyn nudged Carter and tipped her chin in the man’s direction. He followed her gaze and nodded. He wrapped up his conversation with the Post editor just as the man reached them.

  “My friend.” The man didn’t smile, and sadness shadowed his expressive dark eyes. He reached for Carter.

  Madelyn took a half step forward, never taking her eyes off his hands.

  Carter hesitated before clasping him in a bear hug. “Syed, what a surprise. What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were in the country.”

  “Your publicist contacted the embassy. Surely you must have known only the most extreme of circumstances could keep me from your celebration.”

  “What are you doing in Washington? After you dumped me in the emergency room in Cairo and disappeared, I thought I’d never see you again.”

  Syed nodded. “It was for the best.”

  A flash of suppressed pain crossed Carter’s face. He lowered his voice, but even in the crowd Madelyn heard every word. “I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was about Selima.”

  Madelyn’s internal radar blared.

  “I know you were, my friend.”

  “I still feel her loss every day.”

  “As do I. After you left, the situation became somewhat difficult. My superiors felt I would be more...ah, useful...away from Cairo for a while.” Syed’s expression brightened. “But you, you look well. You are healed now?”

  “Good as new.”