Satisfaction Guaranteed

Chapter 16

The small party of business associates turned out to be ten business associates to Prescott, many of differing nationalities, and their dates. Prescott had a woman at his side, too, but she had the hard stare of a professional bodyguard rather than a lover. Maybe she was both, but the way she kept distance from Prescott and yet maintained a position between him and the other guests said not.

She moved with the sinuous grace of an expert in martial arts, but Ethan would lay odds she was packing as well. She did not come off as the type of woman to rely solely on her prowess at hand-to-hand combat for protection. The security guard who normally patrolled inside Prescott’s house was conspicuous by his absence from the large drawing room.

Though Ethan was sure he was in the house somewhere.

Prescott played the convivial host while Ethan played the part of possessive boyfriend and kept Beth locked to his side. The information broker was definitely giving her looks that spoke of too personal an interest in his new investment advisor. He was affable with Ethan on the surface, but made several adroit comments intended to irk Ethan Grange the author.

It was no more than he expected and Ethan enjoyed making it a point of not rising to the bait.

When it came time for dinner, he was not surprised to find himself at the other end of the table while Beth was seated to the left of her host, breaking social custom. Prescott’s “date” was seated to his right. Ethan could not hear their conversation, but he wasn’t worried about Beth’s part in it. She’d been attending political dinners every bit as dangerous in their own way since she was a child. He had complete faith in her, but that didn’t mean he had to like the way Prescott touched her arm when he spoke to her or tried to tempt her to taste his appetizer of escargot when she declined her own.

For his part, Ethan listened to the discussions going on around him while appearing to be wholly engrossed in his flirtation with the woman on his left. Celine Fournier was companion to a middle-aged Frenchman who reeked of money and wore a wedding ring. She didn’t. Not the wife. And not exactly enamored with her role as mistress either, if the amount of wine she imbibed as dinner progressed was any indication.

So far, the conversations around them were innocuous, but a man across the table made a comment about “the merchandise” to which the woman beside him said she hoped it was as impressive as Prescott had intimated it would be. Both hastily changed the subject after a cold-eyed glare from an Arab seated on the other side of the woman.

Between the salad and the main course, Ethan used the cover of dropping his napkin to place a microchip size bug under the table. For all its miniscule proportions, it had amazing range, but he still wanted to get listening devices closer to Prescott’s office and at least one upstairs.

His flirtation with Celine continued after dinner while Prescott made a point of keeping Beth by his side, ostensibly discussing her investment strategy. When Prescott took Beth on a tour of the garden, along with the ever-present bodyguard and several of his other guests, Ethan allowed the now very tipsy brunette to lead him upstairs to a deserted bedroom.

She grabbed him and tumbled back toward the bed, her hands everywhere. His hand on her neck, he leaned down, pretending he was about to kiss her. Instead, he exerted pressure on a sensitive point and she lost consciousness almost instantly. He figured he had two minutes, five at the most, before she came to again. But he’d studied the house plans and architectural detail enough that he was confident he could achieve his objective before she woke.

Yanking on a spandex black ski mask and wafer-thin night goggles he had tucked in the inside pocket of his black blazer as he went, he climbed out the window onto the roof. He sprinted on catlike feet to the window for the master bedroom. It would have been quicker to use the interior hallway, but any movement within the house would be monitored by cameras. Those on the outside were unlikely to pick up Ethan’s movements-even if they were directed at the roof as opposed to the grounds.

He’d dressed all in black for the evening in clothes that fit his literary author persona and made darn good camouflage in the dark. Black turtleneck, blazer, slacks, and what looked like designer men’s dress shoes, but had soft soles for stealth.

He affixed the listening device in a mere second and ran back to the guest room, slipping in through the window with silent speed. He closed it as the sound of people coming up the stairs reached him. He had just stripped off the ski mask, tucking it and the goggles back into his jacket, and sat down on the bed beside Celine, when she woozily opened her eyes. She reached for him as the lights were turned on and a man’s curse and woman’s soft gasp could be heard from the doorway.

Ethan looked up and Beth was staring at him like he was a cockroach. She was with Celine’s date; the Frenchman looked ready to kill.

Ethan smiled easily, used to this sort of “cover your ass” maneuvers in the field, but something inside him stuttered at the look of disgust in Beth’s eyes before she masked it. “I was just helping Ms. Fournier. She was feeling faint and I carried her in here. I’m glad you’ve arrived to take over, Monsieur Bernard.”

Ethan patted Celine’s hand and stood up, careful not to adjust his clothing, or in any way make it appear they’d been doing exactly what Celine had intended for them to be doing.

She, obviously knowing a good cover-up when it presented itself, put her hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically. “It is true. Henri…you were too busy in your business discussions to notice my distress, but this gentleman cared for me.”

Skin pale from the enforced blackout and her slightly slurred consonants from too much wine gave her performance realism, but her benefactor still looked suspicious. “The light was off when we arrived.”

“It hurt my eyes.” She shut them, allowing a single tear to escape and turned her head away. “Not that I expect you to notice, or care. Tonight was to be entertainment you said, but you have done nothing but talk business in whispers. You have ignored me.”

The woman wasn’t a bad actress; she played the part of neglected date very well.

Bernard looked at Ethan, as if asking for confirmation.

Ethan stifled a sigh of disgust. “Now that you are here, I will leave you to care for your date’s discomfort.”

Bernard nodded and rushed to Celine’s side. Taking her into his arms, he whispered words of abject apology in French, all the while looking like a man who had to be wondering if having a young mistress was worth the trouble. Considering the fact that Celine made a good stab at being both a lush and unfaithful, Ethan would have said no.

But men who ignored the sanctity of their marriage vows got what they deserved, in his opinion. Dismissing the other couple from his mind, Ethan crossed the room to Beth. “I thought you’d gone into the garden with Prescott.”

“I was going to, but I didn’t realize you knew…so I came back to tell you where I’d gone.” She bit her lip, looking vulnerable and her gaze slid to the beautiful brunette now clinging to her benefactor’s Armani-clad shoulders.

Ethan took Beth’s arm and led her from the room. “I’ll come with you.”

“If you’re sure Miss Fournier doesn’t need you.” There was a bite in Beth’s tone that made Ethan’s smile genuine.

He liked thinking she could be jealous of him, especially considering she was smart enough to realize anything he did with Celine was for the sake of the case only. It made him feel less of a fool for his own reaction to the attention Prescott gave her.

Ethan tugged Beth out the door and down the stairs. “I’m where I need to be. Come on, Sunshine.”

Beth let Ethan pull her along until they went out the French doors and met up with the group on the back patio. Like the rest of the house, it was slightly pretentious with huge cement lions guarding each of the far corners and the furniture wrought iron cast to look like a formal dining set complete with damask cushions and marble tabletop.

Prescott’s ego reverberated in everything that represented him.

She pulled away from Ethan’s hold just as her pseudoboss looked at them. Satisfaction flashed in his eyes and he beckoned her to him. She went, her mind whirling with the single question that she could not dismiss. Had Ethan been kissing the beautiful and exotic Celine Fournier?

Prescott smiled at her. “I was just explaining the difficulties my horticulturalist has faced in growing roses in the salty climate near the ocean.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a gardener.”

“Ah, but a lovely woman is not required to know how to grow flowers, only enjoy them when they are offered in homage.”

“Are you going to offer my Beth some blooms from your garden?” Ethan asked, his tone deriding. “How very cliché.”

Prescott’s mouth tightened. “Alas, it is fall and the roses are not in bloom, but perhaps next summer she will enjoy that particular garden’s delights. I have found that most women do not find flowers cliché at all.”

“I love roses, especially long-stemmed ones,” one of the women in the party offered.

“Don’t I know it?” Her date’s accent was Canadian. “It costs me a fortune to keep you supplied the way you like.”

She wound her arm through his and smiled up at him. “I’m worth it though, aren’t I?”

Beth didn’t hear the man’s reply because he whispered it, but whatever he said made the woman laugh.

One of the others, a dark, stocky man with an accent that could have been Russian or Ukrainian, she wasn’t sure which, asked, “If the roses are not in bloom, what have you brought us out here to see?”

Once again, Prescott’s mouth flattened into a thin line of annoyance, but he quickly smiled, and Beth thought he would have made a particularly adept politician. “The maze is always of interest to my first-time guests. Perhaps you will feel the same.”

The stocky man shrugged. “Let us see.”

Just then, Prescott’s date for the evening came out of the house with the remaining guests, including Mr. Bernard and his girlfriend. “I’ve convinced the rest of the party to join us in the maze, Arthur. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Yes. Quite lovely, my dear.” Prescott led the entire group across the perfectly manicured lawn to a box hedge maze that easily stood eight feet high. “It is amusing to enter by twos at timed intervals. Everyone will be given twenty minutes to find the center, at which point the pathway that leads to the center will glow amber while the rest of the lighting within the maze will remain white. We shall all meet at the center and I will lead you out afterward.”

A couple of the guests made faces at the proposal, but no one disagreed with the plan.

Ethan once again maneuvered himself beside Beth and took her hand. “This should be fun, honey.”

“I thought we could trade partners for the exercise,” Prescott said.

“Since you know the way to the center and your date probably does, what would be the point in that?”

“We will both refrain from giving hints. It will pit your wits against that of your girlfriend, Mr. Grange.”

Ethan laughed and shook his head. “Not a chance. We both know Beth has a better sense of direction than I do. I’m relying on her to get me through the maze as it is.”

“Beth, you must convince your boyfriend to agree.” There was a core of steel in Prescott’s tone, a subtle warning not lost on Beth.

Her boss was attempting to order her to do this. She wasn’t sure if he wanted her to believe her job might be on the line if she refused, but he definitely wanted his way.

Before Beth could answer though, Ethan’s arm settled around her, his hand curving to her waist and pulling her in tight against him. “I’m not a man who lets my woman tell me what to do, Mr. Prescott. Beth will be going in with me.”

There wasn’t anything subtle about the threat in Ethan’s voice and it was directed right at Prescott. It fit his role well and Beth saw the wisdom her dad and Ethan had shown in creating this particular type of role for her partner. Prescott might get annoyed, but after the way Ethan had reacted to being told he could not escort her right to the door for her interview and the number of calls he made to her during work hours, his reaction now would not be suspect in the least.

They were the third couple into the maze. Ethan immediately started leading her away from the rustle of movement and low voices of the other guests.

Beth pulled on his arm. “I thought I was going to take the lead,” she whispered.

He shook his head once, making no sound as he took turns as if he knew exactly where he was going. A minute later, he pulled her to a stop and just listened.

Two voices came from the other side of the hedge. Both spoke low, but the words were understandable.

“I do not know why you bothered to come. He’s not going to sell the information to your people. His country is at war with yours.” It was the stocky Russian/Ukrainian.

“Men like Prescott have no country. He cares only for the number of zeroes after the dollar sign and we are prepared to offer many.” The man spoke with the cultured tones of the English, but Beth guessed he was the Arab who had sat near Ethan during dinner.

She’d spoken only briefly to him, an introduction from Prescott before dinner, but noticed the man’s impeccable accent at the time.

“There are things besides money a man like Prescott craves.” The dark promise in the Russian/Ukrainian’s voice made Beth’s stomach clench.

Somehow, she did not think the man was talking about power or prominence.

“There, too, you will fall short of what our people can offer,” the Arab said, showing he knew exactly what the other man was referring to.

Or he was bluffing. It didn’t matter which. Something about the conversation was making Beth nauseous.

“You would like to think so, I am sure.”

“Rudi, will you stop talking business and help me find the center of the maze?” a feminine voice whined from farther away.

The Arab’s companion was silent until the other couple moved on. “You risk a great deal talking with that man,” she said in a voice both cold and hard.

“I risk nothing.”

“You have no way of knowing which guests are buyers like we are and which are blinds he has planted to gain information, or play his little power games with.”

“The stupid Russian spoke to me first.”

“If he is here, he is not stupid and his speaking first is no guarantee he is not working for Prescott as a spy.”

“Do not correct me.”

“Do not be tedious. I give correction when it is needed. We both benefit if your people win the bid, but we both lose if you muck the deal.” The woman’s voice was definitely American and while she had seemed quiet during dinner and before, she was obviously no brainless bedmate brought along to even out numbers.

“You have no more loyalty to your country than Prescott.”

“And you have a brain the size of a pea if you think you are safe in continuing to bait me, but I guess that means we both have our little deficiencies we must learn to live with.”

Ethan stiffened beside Beth, but made no noise.

With a sound of disgust, the man moved off.

“Pig,” the woman hissed under her breath before following him, her tread so quiet, Beth barely heard her move.

She looked up at Ethan. His brows were drawn together in a frown and he looked at the hedge almost as if he could see through it and was watching the two people move away.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head again, indicating silence. Beth obeyed. The other couples passed by on the other side of the hedge, some talking, some quiet, but none saying anything nearly as interesting as the original foursome.

Ethan looked down at his watch, looked up at Beth, and said, “Come here.”

That was all the warning she got before he kissed her so expertly, her toes curled in her high-heeled sandals. He tunneled his fingers into her hair and devoured her with his mouth until she was panting and hot with arousal, rubbing her body against his and holding his head to her with desperate hands.

A chime sounded and he jerked away from her with a curse. “That damn near got out of hand.”

She would have agreed if she could have breathed to do so.

He didn’t say anything else and she had no idea why he had kissed her, only that it proved she was still dangerously susceptible to him. Something she had known, but would have been happy forgoing another object lesson on.

She figured out why he’d done it when they were the last couple to find the center. Prescott and several others looked at Beth with knowing expressions and she realized she looked as disheveled as she felt. Ethan looked a little worse for the wear, too. She’d mussed his hair and he had a smear of her lipstick near his mouth.

She indicated it discreetly and he smiled that devil’s smile he used sometimes, then pulled a white handkerchief from an interior pocket on his blazer and wiped the evidence from his face. Everyone would think they’d been lost to passion rather than lost in the maze.

No one would guess they were the last couple to find the center because they’d been busy spying on the others. It was smart, but Beth felt used. Her reaction to Ethan wasn’t part of the case, but he wasn’t above using it as a blind. She knew that made sense and told her susceptible heart to chill out, but there was an ache inside her that would not go away.

Prescott served champagne to his guests and congratulated the first couple to find the center before leading them out of the maze and back to the house, where dessert was being served.

The rest of the evening was uneventful and always mindful of Ethan’s warning about talking in the car, Beth waited until they were back at the cabin with everything secure before bringing up the odd conversation they had overheard.

She slipped her shoes off and curled up on the sofa, her frothy cocktail dress flowing around her and sliding silkily against her stocking-clad thighs. For once, the kittens did not come to join her. They slept curled together in the center of the daybed in the spare room. They’d lifted their heads and blinked big kitty eyes at her when she’d gone in to check on them, but gone directly back to sleep.

She wished at least one of them had followed her into the living room. She could use a diversion from the tension that had nothing to do with the case shimmering around her and Ethan. “He’s getting ready to auction something off.”

Ethan stripped off his blazer and kicked off his shoes, his green eyes burning with something besides interest in the case. “Definitely, but we don’t have a clue what. There’s not even a whisper about it among my contacts.”

She adjusted her skirt over her legs so nothing showed except her toes peeking from beneath the two layers of chiffon. “He’s careful.”

“Not careful enough.” Ethan peeled off his turtleneck and tossed it on top of his blazer. It was quickly followed by his belt.

She didn’t ask why, but did her best to ignore the expanse of chest rippling as he stretched before sinking to the couch beside her.

She kept her gaze locked to his face. “What did you think of the two men arguing over which one of them was going to win the bid?”

Ethan stretched his arm along the back of the couch, only an inch from where her bare shoulder leaned against it. “I think neither was as interesting as the American woman.”

“In what way?”

“She’s filled with rage and her partner has no clue.”

“Rage?” Beth had heard disgust, even mockery, but not rage in the other woman’s voice.

“She’s good at hiding it, but it’s there. If she’s not a professional, she’s next to it.”

Her heart gave a funny twinge at Ethan’s obvious admiration for the other woman. “A professional agent?”

“Yes.”

“But that shouldn’t come as a surprise. I’m sure a lot of Prescott’s buyers are agents working for governments or dishonest organizations.”

“But she’s not the buyer. The Arab is. She’s working with him, but I don’t buy it’s because their interests coincide. I think it’s telling that she waited to give him her warning until after the man had talked to the Russian.”

Beth pleated the fabric of her skirt between her fingers, trying not to reach out and touch the bare chest in front of her. “You think she wanted to hear what was said?”

“Yes.”

“Then why point out the dangers of the conversation at all?”

“To keep the Arab off balance.” Again that note of admiration in her voice.

“Do you think she’s one of our own?”

Ethan’s hand slid down so his thumb made contact with her shoulder. “We’d know if another agency was targeting Prescott. At least I think we would, but I’ve got a feeling about her.”

He wasn’t caressing her, it was a simple point of contact. A small point of contact. And yet her insides were liquefying and her breath was coming faster. She should pull away, but she didn’t want to. Which was bad. Very, very bad.

She licked her suddenly dry lips. “You once told me that your instincts never mislead you.”

His gaze was fixed on her mouth. “They don’t.”

“Then we’ve got to assume something is going on here that we don’t know about.”

His eyes moved to meet hers. “I’ve got a friend I can call and find out what he knows. He’s got connections in Washington that run on a different path than mine.”

“We can have Alan check with his sources at the FBI.”

“Hotwire has sources in the Bureau. There’s no need to bother Hyatt.” The tone of his voice said he’d rather eat his boots than contact the other agent. Was he jealous?

“Is Hotwire a fellow Texan?”

“Actually, no. He’s from Georgia. An ex-special forces, then ex-mercenary. He does some work for official channels in an unofficial capacity. He also runs a security company with his wife and a friend of his. I’ll call him tomorrow and ask him to check into it for me.”

“I don’t think you got a lot of comments on your report cards in school that said things like, ‘plays well with others.’”

His brows drew together in confusion. “Your point?”

She shrugged, rubbing her shoulder along his thumb and dangerously multiplying her body’s reaction to him. “I’m surprised you’re going to an outsider for help.”

“He’s a friend.”

“Wow, I didn’t think you had friends.”

He didn’t look confused now. He looked offended. “What would you call my fellow agents?”

“Coworkers.”

“They’re my friends.”

“If you say so.”

“What are you trying to say here?”

She wasn’t sure why she was saying anything at all, except maybe she wanted that label for herself and needed it to be real. “You don’t run ops with the same partner twice in a row. You do your extreme sports with the others, but last year, not one of them commented when you came to work on your birthday.”

He rolled his eyes, his expression saying her logic was not impressing him. “They don’t know my birthday.”

“Exactly. You aren’t close with any of them. Does this other friend know your birthday?”

“His wife does.” Ethan grimaced. “Queenie ratted me out.”

“Your great-uncle’s paramour?”

“Paramour, what kind of word is that?”

“One that seems to fit a woman who was dating your eighty-something-year-old uncle when he died.”

“I see. And what do you call yourself in relation to me?” His hand turned and cupped her shoulder.

The movement should have been casual, but she felt branded. She sucked in air.

“I don’t know.” She was more than a coworker, but less than a lover. Especially since the no sex rule she’d instigated. “Your friend?”

“You said I don’t have any.”

“Maybe I was being harsh.”

His brow rose. “You, harsh?”

“I’m not, usually.”

“I know.” The words felt like a caress. “I also know what I’d like to call you.”

“What?”

“My woman.”

“Your lover, you mean?”

“That, too.”

“I thought the sex was too intense for you.” She thought she’d been too intense for him.

“I’m going crazy not touching you.”

“You touch me all the time.”

“For the sake of possible watchers. I don’t take advantage.”

“Don’t you?”

“No, damn it, Beth. I don’t.” He jerked his hand away and sat back. “I’m a good agent. The best. I cover every angle, but I don’t take advantage of women. In any way.”