The air in the room seemed to crackle around them as lightning flashed outside the windows. Ben tried to steady his breathing. This was no different than some of the secret projects he ran on the dark web. He would prevail here, too.
A few minutes later, Ben’s computer chirped loudly when the final member of the prince’s delegation went through the metal detector. The screen confirmed a full facial match to the picture the CIA director had provided.
“That’s our guy,” Ben announced. His mouth had become so dry that the words were hard to push out. But Director Worcester was already communicating with the Uniformed Division officers manning the checkpoint.
The next few minutes were a blur as the staff for the State Department worked with Secret Service agents outside to escort the suspect to another location. The Secretary of Homeland paraded through the usher’s office, drink in hand, and patted Ben on the back.
“I knew you could do it, Agent Segar,” she said.
The NSA director was more sanguine. “I’ll see you in my office first thing, Segar. There’s no reason we all shouldn’t be using your technology. Remember, it’s government property. And for the time being, you are government property, too.”
“You really are the Boy Genius.” Griffin Keller slipped into the chair next to Ben and handed him a small plate full of appetizers. “I guess all those nights you spent with your fingers caressing your keyboard instead of a woman finally paid off. I hope you’ll remember us little people when you leave government service and become a bazillionaire.”
Ben shot his friend a questioning look. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” he teased. “Could it be Asshole, perhaps?”
“And so it begins.”
“I’m surprised they still let you in this place.” Ben speared a piece of shrimp off the plate. Prior to his marriage, Griffin had transferred to a job with the Department of Treasury, citing the more predictable hours as his reason for deserting the Secret Service. Getting leg-shackled did that to a man.
“I’ve got a person of interest on the guest list. He caught us off guard by showing up tonight. We suspect he’s aware we’re building a case against him, but he entered the US anyway. He’s the arrogant playboy son of a Russian billionaire. Junior is buying up a lot of local real estate,” Griff explained keeping his voice down so as not to be overheard. “Then taking out some serious loans using his newly acquired residences as collateral.”
“That’s a good way to make dirty money clean again.”
“Exactly. And now he’s branching out into cybercurrency.”
“It’s the wave of the future,” Ben said.
“So you say. The good old paper stuff still works fine for me.” Griff picked up a pastry off his plate and grinned at it foolishly. “Plus, I never pass up an excuse to stop by the Crown and corner the curator on the back stairs.”
“Didn’t Marin tell you?” Ben teased, referring to Griffin’s wife, formerly the White House executive pastry chef and now it’s historian. “She’s dumping your ass for me. She even promised to save me some of her special cream puffs for later.”
Griffin actually growled. Ben would have laughed had his laptop not chimed at the same moment. In all the excitement of earlier, he’d forgotten to power off VOYEUR. His heart raced, thinking he’d somehow identified the wrong guy.
“Speak of the devil,” Griff said as he glanced at the laptop screen. “There’s my Russian friend Alexi Ronoff now. As usual, he has a gorgeous piece of arm candy accompanying him. Although I haven’t seen this redhead before. I have to admit Alexi has great taste.”
Ben’s computer chimed again as VOYEUR zeroed in on the woman with Ronoff. Reaching for his bow tie and pulling it completely off, he struggled to get air into his lungs. He had seen that redhead before.
Slamming his laptop shut he dumped it into Griffin’s lap. “Don’t let this out of your sight!”
“What the hell, Bennett?”
But Ben was already sliding across the slick floor of the North Lobby. He skidded to a halt just as the couple passed through the doors at the top of the steps. The screech of his shoes on the marble floor had everyone turning to stare at him, including the very stunned pair of sea-green eyes belonging to none other than Quinn Darby. The woman he had been waiting thirteen years to confront.
And then, as if to underscore the significance of the moment, lightning crackled viciously overhead. Seconds later, the White House went dark.
Chapter Two
Dawn was breaking behind the Washington Monument. The sun’s fledgling rays bathed the Tidal Basin in hues of pinks and purples. Adding to the beauty, the heavy rainfall from the night before made everything look as though it was dusted with glitter. From her vantage point, leaning against one of the marble columns of the Lincoln Memorial, Quinn Darby glanced through the viewfinder of her camera at the joggers hurrying along the pathways between the two landmarks. All of the runners were seemingly oblivious to the beautiful impressionist vista Mother Nature was in the process of painting.
She drew in a lungful of the sparkling air. Hours from now, the shine would wear off this place when thousands of tourists and heavy humidity descended. But this early in the day, the memorial was tranquil, still holding the promise of the optimism it was erected to memorialize.
Good thing since Quinn was in need of all the optimism she could get right now.
As usual, the scent of her handler’s cologne reached her first. Distinctive and unique, it was a warm, homey fragrance an older man might wear. It made her want to lean a shoulder on his and unburden herself.
She didn’t dare, though.
Neither could she turn around to see his face. He had been explicit about that particular command. The man explained it was for her own protection, but since she was the one straddling the dark side, she figured her handler’s anonymity was more for his security than hers. Still, she appreciated the kindness of him wanting her to think otherwise.
“Did you know I was born here?” she blurted out.
She wasn’t sure why she led with that random tidbit except she was feeling a bit nostalgic this morning. Not to mention off-kilter. She blamed last night’s close encounter with Ben Segar for both moods. Not once in her illustrious career had she felt this unbalanced. She was always the steady one. The confident one. Unfazed and unflappable with any assignment.
But not today.
And all because a boy she tried—and failed—not to fall in love with thirteen years earlier had appeared out of seemingly nowhere.
“I was born three miles away at Georgetown Hospital,” she babbled on in hopes of getting her mind to deviate from its present course.
She’d only lived in the United States’ capital city on occasion during the past thirty years, however. Her mother’s career took her to countless countries before she’d reached her teens. Quinn’s own career took her even farther afield, never staying in one place long enough to fill out a change of address card, much less put down roots. The nomadic life was a trade-off for the thrilling challenge of being in the game. The risks she took to clandestinely retrieve lost items of importance delivered a potent adrenaline high she thrived on.