Houseboat on the Nile Page 2

  “Not right now, thanks.” There was that reaction I had to champagne; I didn’t see anyone at this party I’d fuck with a borrowed dick, even if The Boss pushed and Holmes got blamed for it. “Where’s the open bar?”

  “Just at the end of the room. And the buffet is next door.”

  “Thanks.” He went off, and I made my way to the bar. It would look suspicious if I didn’t have a drink in my hand, so I ordered a club soda with a twist, telling the bartender to open a new bottle. Anyone who was curious would assume I had a vodka and club.

  I circled the room, listening in on random conversations while I looked for Holmes. The man was a fucking asshole, but that was about par for the quality of officers the C-fucking-I-fucking-A recruited.

  He was also nowhere to be seen. I put my glass down on a tray with other used glasses and headed for the room that was set up for the buffet.

  I was willing to give the CIA one thing: whoever had hired this caterer had done a bang-up job. There were hot and cold hors d’oeuvres, including escargots, platters of vegetables and fruits, baskets of rolls, baguettes, and sliced bread—whole wheat, rye, multi-grain. A white-jacketed chef was busy slicing a standing rib roast at one station while another at a second station carved thick slices of turkey breast. A third offered up Cornish game hens.

  I helped myself to a little of everything. Well, except the snails. I’d had to survive on them once, and I’d developed such an aversion that just the sight of those suckers in their shells turned my stomach.

  The rib roast was so tender and tasty that I went back a couple of times, and I’d have helped myself to even more, but I didn’t want to get logy from eating too much.

  I finished the last of my veggies, not because this was something my old lady had insisted on—she wouldn’t have cared if I came down with rickets or scurvy—but one of the men she’d brought home had been big on healthy eating, and for him I did my best.

  A waiter passed by with a tray, collecting dirty dishes, and I added mine to them, then returned to the ballroom, got another club soda, and began circulating again. Holmes still wasn’t around.

  A drop-dead gorgeous brunette sauntered up to me. The red silk gown she wore could have been spray-painted on, hugging her curves lovingly. It left her shoulders bare and was slit to midthigh, and each step she took revealed about a mile of toned leg. A gold mesh choker studded with diamonds encircled her throat. The ensemble was completed by a pair of long red gloves with a pointed hem that reached her shoulder. She was tall, and the fuck-me heels she wore brought her to a couple of inches taller than my six foot three.

  “My date seems to have abandoned me,” she said in a husky voice that hinted of champagne, candlelight, silk sheets, and sin. “Would you mind welcoming in the New Year with a lonely lady?”

  That was right. In about twenty minutes, it would be the New Year.

  “It would be my pleasure.” I raised her gloved hand to my lips and kissed the back of it.

  “You’re so gallant!”

  “You’re so beautiful!”

  “Don’t overdo it,” she murmured between lips parted in a faint smile. She tucked her hand in the crook of my elbow, and we began to stroll around the room.

  She was actually a he, but referring to him in the feminine made it easy for both of us to keep his cover. Gabe Granger made one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. And if she didn’t work for the WBIS, and if I didn’t have a policy against fucking people I worked with, I’d have tried to jump her bones. Tried, because if she’d said no, I’d have respected her wishes.

  “Would you care for a drink?”

  She smiled into my eyes. “Club soda?”

  I grinned back at her. Of course. I got it, and we resumed our stroll.

  “Do you think any of these asshats suspect either of us?” I couldn’t resist thinking smugly that they never did know when the fox was in the henhouse.

  “Mann might.”

  “He’s here?” And damn, I’d just kept myself from craning my head around like a teen searching the gym for the prettiest girl on the dance floor.

  Granger laughed softly. “Did you doubt it? He’s waiting by the restrooms for his date.”

  “Well, I’m not here for him.”

  She sobered. “I know.” The orchestra began to play an old pop standard. “Let’s dance, shall we?”

  I gave our glasses to a passing waiter and led Granger out onto the dance floor. She didn’t snuggle up against me, but she was close enough that no one would overhear our quiet words.

  “Holmes isn’t here.”

  “I’m aware of that. I’ve been trying to find him for the past two hours.” Knowing he liked to make an appearance, I hadn’t worried that I’d missed him. “A couple of officers said something about being surprised he hadn’t shown up.”

  “He won’t be showing up, either.”

  Well, fuck.

  “My date let slip that Holmes was at another affair being hosted by a certain senator who is known and unloved by all of us.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Yes. Apparently it was a last minute thing too. Holmes had been angling for an invitation for months and had been routinely snubbed.”

  “And then all of a sudden he was invited?” That was even more interesting.

  “And let me tell you Richard Custiss wasn’t happy about it. He had plans for me to impress Holmes.”

  “Why would someone in Financial Management want to get involved with Counterterrorism?”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “How did you know Richard worked in Financial Management?” She stared into my eyes, then squeezed my shoulder. “Never mind, I know: You’re the best.”

  Well, I am.

  “Anyway, to answer your question, I don’t know at this moment, but I’m looking into it.” Something caught her attention, and while I regretted I hadn’t been able to bring my Glock, I knew between the two of us, we could handle whatever the CIA threw our way.

  “What is it?”

  “I see your secretary is here.”

  Was that all? “Yes.” I reversed our positions.

  Ms. Parker looked good, and anyone would swear she was having the time of her life. She met my eyes but didn’t give the slightest indication that she recognized me.

  “How long will she have to date that asshole?”

  “Why? Interested?”

  “And if I were?”

  I shrugged. “Not my business. I just ask her to file my reports. I’ll tell you one thing, though. That’s not my favorite aspect of the WBIS.”

  “You’re a good man.”

  “Don’t let it get around, okay?” The music came to an end, and everyone clapped politely.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve been waiting all year for!” the MC announced. There was a little halfhearted laughter. “In ten seconds it will be 2002!” He began the countdown and went crazy when he got to “One!” He blew a horn, tossed confetti, batted at the balloons that drifted down from the ceiling, and generally made a fool of himself.

  “Happy New Year, Mark.”

  “Happy New Year, Gabe.”

  Everyone around us was kissing. The corner of her mouth curled up. “I’m game if you are.”

  “Sure.” As far as anyone in the intelligence community knew, I was straight. What I was, was none of their business.

  “If anyone finds out, you can say you didn’t want to blow my cover.”

  “What part of ‘sure’ didn’t you understand?” I slid my arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her. No tongue; I was a gentleman, after all—hadn’t the MC said so just a minute or so ago?

  But Granger licked at my lips. I drew back and laughed. “You sure you want to start something?”

  “Gabriella, there you are!”

  Granger turned to the bean counter who came bustling up. A little on the pudgy side, it was easy to tell he’d been riding a desk fo
r his entire career. “Here I am, Richard.”

  “What are you doing kissing this man?” His eyes zeroed in on the mole on my cheek, and he couldn’t seem to look away from it.

  “Welcoming in the New Year, since you saw fit to absent yourself.”

  If that tone had been directed toward me I’d have gone for my overcoat. Cold!

  And nicely done.

  He jerked his gaze away from my face and stared at her in dismay. “But I told you I’d be right back!” he whined.

  “But you weren’t.” Her expression was as icy as her words. “I’m not one of your empty-headed sycophants who are so flattered you can spare them a minute of your oh-so-valuable time.”

  “Gabriella, please….” He flushed and took out a handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead.

  She gave a delicate sniff and turned away from him and toward me.

  “Thank you for the dance.” I raised her hand to my lips again, then grinned at her date. “You’re a lucky man,” I told him. “If I were you, I wouldn’t abandon such a lovely lady. She might not be where you left her.” As I stepped back, I bumped into someone. “Sorry….”

  “No, that’s quite all right. The ballroom is very crowded, isn’t it?” His eyes were light with amusement, and he chuckled. It was Mann.

  “Yes.” My heart began to pound. What the fuck? I scowled and took a few deep, surreptitious breaths, getting it under control. “Nice turnout tonight.”

  “Do I know you?” His eyes lost their amusement and became intent. The only thing I hadn’t changed about my appearance was my eye color. Why bother? Lots of men had hazel eyes.

  Mann did.

  “I don’t think so.” I smiled easily. “I just flew in from Vienna.”

  “Beautiful city.” He looked nostalgic. “My parents took me there to see the Lipizzaner stallions when I was ten.” He smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Quinton Mann.” He had a firm grip, but he didn’t pull any of that macho bullshit of trying to prove he was top dog by breaking my fingers. Which was just as well because he wouldn’t have succeeded, and I would have.

  “I’m Flint.”

  “No first name?”

  “Kane.” It wasn’t, but then Flint wasn’t my last name, either.

  The woman with him cleared her throat pointedly.

  “And this is my friend, Susan Burkhart.”

  “Ms. Burkhart.”

  She frowned at Mann. “Really, Quinton, aren’t I more than a friend?” She gave me her hand. It was so limp I almost expected to smell fish.

  “Mr. Mann, it’s a pleasure to see you, sir!” Granger’s date provided a welcome diversion. He was falling all over himself to get Mann to notice him. He grabbed Mann’s hand and pumped it, and I couldn’t help grinning.

  Mann saw, and he raised his eyebrow. Damn, I was making him too curious.

  I made the grin broader and swayed a bit. “Oops. ’Scuse me, gen’lemen. Ladies.” I nodded to Granger and the Burkhart woman, who held on to Mann’s arm with a death grip. Mann deserved better than her. “Gonna get a drink. Hap—” I hiccupped. “Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year, Kane.” Granger kept a bland expression on her face, but her eyes revealed she was on to me.

  Her date, on the other hand, ignored me completely in favor of Mann. “I’m Richard Custiss,” he told Mann, still holding on to his hand.

  “How nice to meet you.”

  I’d have been tempted to slug the guy, but that was Mann, class all the way.

  And then I realized he’d been talking to me. He freed his hand and held it out to me, and I had no choice but to take it.

  “Happy New Year,” I said again, and I turned on my heel and got out of there.

  III

  I COULD feel Mann’s eyes on me as I headed for the bar, walking as if I were making every effort to keep my gait steady.

  They were about three deep all the way around. I could have gotten the bartender’s attention and been served immediately, but there was no rush, and it would have brought me to everyone’s attention. Instead, I waited to get closer to the bar, and while I waited, I let a portion of my mind wander.

  That tux Mann was wearing suited him well. Could I get a picture of him in it to put on my computer? I licked my lips.

  What did he look like under it? That age-old question: shorts or briefs? Or commando? What would it be like to get him naked, to get him into bed and have his wrists manacled by my left hand while I ran my fingertips over his nipples, tugging lightly at his treasure trail, finally closing around his cock and jacking him off while I buried myself deep in his ass?

  My cock began to stir, jerking me out of that fantasy.

  No. Fuck, no! What was I thinking? He was CIA, I was WBIS. There was no way he’d ever accept me as a lover.

  And there was no fucking way I’d accept him!

  Of course I wouldn’t.

  But… it was good to be two jumps ahead of the opposition, and the CIA didn’t have the relaxed attitude of the WBIS regarding an employee’s sexual orientation. I’d need to gather more information about Mann.

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder.

  “What?” I demanded, irritated. The only reason why I didn’t react automatically and take this clown apart then and there was because only one part of my mind had been enjoying the idea of screwing—screwing over—Quinton Mann.

  “The bartender’s already asked you twice what you want.” Jesus. Mann?

  “Sorry. Club soda,” I told the bartender, who’d been almost ready to move on. “Open a new bottle, please.”

  “Of course, sir. And would you like a lemon or lime with that?”

  “Both.” I grinned at Mann. “I like to live dangerously.”

  “Of course. I recall only too well how exciting a desk job can be.” His words were dry, his gaze sober. “I’m glad to see you’re not having another drink, Kane.”

  “A man should know his limitations,” I said easily. I was coming across exactly as I’d intended: bland, someone who spent his life shuffling papers. So why was I offended that he saw me that way? “But how would you know about riding a desk?”

  “I had a minor leg wound last summer, and as a result, I was out of the field for quite some time.”

  Yeah, when Buonfiglio had shot him at the warehouse. “I’ve never taken a bullet for the Company.”

  “You’re not missing anything. Trust me.” He studied my eyes. “I don’t believe you’re as drunk as you let on.”

  “I was trying to make a dignified exit.”

  “You abandoned me! Although I must admit I can’t blame you, but by acting drunk? I think you could have found a better excuse.”

  I shrugged.

  “Your club soda, sir.” The bartender handed me the glass, smiled broadly at the tip I stuffed in the tip cup, then turned that smile at Mann. “What can I get for you, sir?”

  “A cosmopolitan, please.”

  The bartender turned away and began gathering the ingredients.

  “I wouldn’t think that was your style, Mann.” I squeezed the lemon and dropped it into the soda.

  “Call me Quinton. And you’re right, it’s not. It’s for my… it’s for Susan.” He looked concerned. “We’ve been seeing each other for some time, but it’s quite plain it’s not going anywhere.”

  “She doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “No, she doesn’t, does she?” He sighed. “I’m leaving the country for a few weeks. Is it too ungentlemanly to break it off with her on New Year’s Day?”

  He was asking me? “It’s better than Valentine’s Day.”

  “Have you done that?”

  I hadn’t, but that wasn’t because I only did one-night stands—I’d never be fool enough to get so involved with someone that they’d expect me to spend holidays with them.

  There was that thing I’d had with my partner, whatever that was, but then he’d gone and gotten himself kidnapped, tortured, and killed. I’d taken care of the bastards who’d gutted him
and strangled him with his intestines, but after that, I’d refused to have another partner, ever.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. That’s a personal question.”

  Shit, I’d been quiet too long. “Not a problem.”

  “Your cosmo, sir.” The bartender offered Mann the martini glass.

  Mann took it, slipped a bill into the tip cup, and stared down into the pink drink.

  “I can’t imagine why I’m telling you this.”

  I grinned at him. “I’ve got that kind of face.”

  “Yes, you do.” He glanced over at the dance floor. “Susan seems to be enjoying that samba.”

  She was twirling across the floor with Richard Custiss. Granger was dancing with someone else, and I was willing to bet Custiss was too intent on currying favor with Mann’s… friend… to care too much about that.

  Mann touched my arm, and I turned my head, raising an eyebrow. “Shall we find a less crowded place to chat?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I believe the buffet has been set up with desserts.”

  “Dessert works for me. But what about Ms. Burkhart’s cosmo?”

  He looked around, then signaled to a spook who sauntered over to us. “DB, would you mind seeing Susan gets this?”

  “Not a problem, Quinn.” He didn’t move, though, just stood there staring at me.

  Mann sighed. “This is Kane Flint, from our Vienna office.”

  “Flint.”

  “Cooper.”

  Cooper narrowed his eyes at me. “Quinn didn’t mention my last name.”

  “No, but wouldn’t I be foolish not to take note of who was at this affair?”

  “Jesus, you sound as paranoid as Mark Vincent.”

  Shit. I’d let myself get too distracted by Mann. I gave a relaxed smile and shrugged. “Vincent’s still alive.”

  “Unfortunately.” Ah. Another fan.

  “DB, I need to talk to Kane about something that’s come up in Austria.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Nosy son of a bitch. I wondered how Mann would deal with that flat-out lie.

  “The Scarlet Chamber seems to be on the verge of reactivation. Members have been spotted in Carinthia,” Mann said smoothly.