Distinguished Service & Every Move You Make (Uniformly Hot!) Page 7

  The day was clear and seasonal for November, with temps around fifty degrees. Mace’s plain black suit, white shirt and nondescript tie were enough to identify him to fellow team members, but weren’t obvious enough that he stood out in the crowd. Of course, if someone looked close enough, his reflective sunglasses and earpiece could give him away.

  He listened as final pre-event checks were made on those premises deemed the most vulnerable and okays issued, even as he noted additional weaknesses in the route and considered options to protect them.

  He was seriously considering rerouting the rally drive, even though Norman himself had made it very clear this was the one he wanted to take, since there were at least two “support” gatherings along the way scheduled to watch his car go by. While Mace had never overseen nor participated in a similar occasion, he’d educated himself over the past two days enough to where he felt semi-comfortable.

  And he didn’t care for the changing variables.

  In addition to the support gatherings, he was assured there would also be anti-Norman assemblies, as well.

  Midmorning pedestrians walked the streets alongside him, commuters drove on the streets, bike riders zoomed by and delivery trucks came and went. Nothing looked out of the ordinary and he had every reason to expect everything to go smoothly.

  Still, he couldn’t help feeling he was missing something.

  He acknowledged the sensation could stem from caution honed over his years in the service, time he’d spent stationed where anyone and everyone was a possible suspect, including women and children, in innocuous locations that appeared peaceful but could turn into hell within a blink.

  Combine all that with natural instincts that had rarely steered him wrong and he wouldn’t be comfortable until this assignment was over.

  He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He didn’t realize what he was looking for until he didn’t see it: namely, any calls or texts from Geneva.

  Merely thinking her name made him hot for her all over again.

  He slid the cell back into his pocket and ordered himself to get back on point.

  The memory of her mouth, her soft cries, were enough to keep him up longer than he’d have liked.

  If only Reece had texted him a little later, he would have taken her back to her bedroom and found out just how far her responsiveness went.

  “Sir, check complete.” Jonathon Reece’s voice came through his earpiece.

  He moved to press the button to allow him to respond when a man wearing a gray hoodie walked from one of those courtyards that caused such concern and cut in front of him, catching his shoulder.

  Mace stopped, watching as the man unapologetically continued walking across the street with barely a look at traffic.

  Awareness ran through Mace as he tried to match the man to any of the nine guys they’d identified as threats and came away with a negative.

  Which meant little. Yet it could mean everything.

  “Sir?” Jon’s voice sounded again.

  Mace pressed the button that was part of the earpiece. “Very good, Reece. Have everyone walk it again, this time from the opposite direction.”

  Silence. Then, “Roger that.”

  He released the button. He knew Reece disagreed with his orders. But he would do as requested, no questions asked.

  The hooded man disappeared from view into another courtyard across the way.

  Mace remained watching after him, then crossed the street to follow…

  * * *

  “SO…”

  Geneva wiped down the counter after the lunch crowd had mostly dissipated and the instant she reached the end where Trudy was taking her usual, post rush coffee, her friend and employer decided some conversation was in order.

  “So, what?” she asked.

  Trudy stared at her over her reading glasses where she read the daily paper, words unneeded.

  The diner had mostly emptied out aside from a couple of lingering regulars and the help, including her and Trudy, the day cook and a part-time busboy who even now cleared the last of the tables and was preparing to mop before the dinner shift took over.

  “Sit,” Trudy ordered more than requested.

  “I just wanted to finish—”

  “Now.”

  Geneva poured herself a cup of decaf and sat.

  In the time she’d worked there, Trudy had proven to be just as much of a second mother as she was an employer to Geneva. She had her own family, but everyone who worked the diner was an extended family of sorts…unconditional until someone violated the terms.

  Like Cindy, whom Trudy had fired the next time the blind-date opting brunette had showed up for her next shift and had forgotten to feign the illness from which she’d claimed to be suffering that had kept her from work. Unfortunately, that left them short another pair of hands every day until Trudy found a suitable replacement. Something experience told Geneva could be weeks.

  “So, does he know?” Trudy asked.

  Geneva pretended that adding sugar and creamer to her cup required her undivided attention. “Who?”

  Another over-the-glasses look.

  “About the baby? Yes. Yes, he does know.”

  Trudy made a quiet sound. “And do you think he might stick around for a while?”

  Geneva nearly choked on her coffee.

  Trudy sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

  Geneva felt inexplicably irritated. “I know you’re concerned about me, Trudy. Really…I do. But this…Mace…” Merely saying his name made the butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach flutter faster. “He makes me feel good. The way he looks at me…makes me feel not like a waitress, or a friend, or an expectant mother, but like a…well, woman…I like it. What’s wrong with enjoying it while I can?”

  “The problem is your hormones are running in circles…and it’s important you not forget you are an expectant mother.”

  “Trust me, that’s not something I can exactly forget.”

  “Oh? Because the way I see it, you’re trying pretty hard.”

  Talk about pins and balloons.

  Of course, what Geneva was leaving out of the equation was that despite last night’s unexpected turn of events, she and Mace weren’t truly dating, they were only pretending to date.

  Not that she’d tell Trudy that. Aside from agreeing with Mace that they couldn’t tell anyone in order for this to fly, she knew the instant she breathed word one to the talkative diner owner, everyone would know. Then what value would their agreement have?

  She shivered for reasons having nothing to do with the temperature.

  “Uh-huh,” Trudy said, rustling her paper.

  Geneva took a sip of her coffee. “We’re dating. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Pregnant women don’t date.”

  “Why not? Last time I checked, we’re still human.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re hormonal.”

  “I’ll give you the hormonal part. At any rate, what does it matter? In a week he’ll be gone and everything will return to normal.”

  “Depends on how you define normal.”

  How did she define normal? What happened last night?

  The mere thought…

  She couldn’t help smiling.

  Which earned her another Trudy frown.

  She pushed her cup to the other side of the counter where she could collect it when she walked around.

  “Are we done?” she asked.

  “I am,” Trudy said. “I think I’ve made my point.”

  With a fine-honed carving knife, Geneva wanted to add, “And I hope I’ve made mine.”

  She rounded the counter, dumped the contents of her cup into the sink and put it in the bussing bin. She caught Tr
udy watching her and could have sworn she was hiding a grin behind the paper she pretended to read.

  Geneva shook her head and grinned back, then hurried off into the kitchen.

  10

  MACE RODE in the trailing car in the passenger’s seat, keeping an eye out and listening to route reports as Norman’s limo drove under the speed limit ahead of them. That sense of wariness remained with him, even though everything was going like clockwork.

  So far…

  Ahead of the limo, Jonathon Reece rode in the lead sedan, and in the limo itself were two more security personnel, in addition to Norman’s personal assistant and event organizer, who had met him at the hotel.

  He resisted rubbing the back of his neck to smooth the prickling there.

  General Stan “The Man” Norman had been presentable enough, direct and to the point, an extension of what had likely made him a successful general. More importantly now, he was content to let them decide what he needed to do…beyond his predetermined routes.

  Mace didn’t get it. While rumors surrounded the one-time general, now political talk show radio host’s future political plans, he couldn’t understand why the guy garnered so much attention.

  “Have you listened to his show?” Dominic Falcone asked Mace from the driver’s seat.

  “No.”

  “If you had, then you’d know why. They don’t come any more confrontational than the general. Name one group he hasn’t manage to offend and I’ll point how he managed to do it.”

  “Sticks and stones…”

  “Yeah, well, we all know what words are capable of.”

  Indeed, they all did, as history and armed conflict bore out.

  In Norman’s case, it seemed many people were interested in stoning him simply for the words he chose.

  Earlier that day, the man responsible for putting Mace in this position had called to consult with him. He’d reminded Darius of his mounting debt and assured him he had everything well under control. They’d talked a bit about the kidnapping case that had taken his friend away, and then Dari had asked about the girl he’d been spotted with at The Barracks.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think that had been the true reason behind Dari’s unnecessary call.

  “Geneva?” His friend had sounded incredulous when he’d told him. “You do know…”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Dari’s silence had been louder than a car bomb. “Hey, far be it for me to suggest you don’t know what you’re doing, but, well, do you know what you’re doing?”

  “I’m enjoying her company.”

  Enjoying her company. Those words seemed to fall far short of the mark. Whatever he was doing, Geneva and her soft lips were there, along the fringes of his thoughts.

  He’d texted her a short time ago to tell her he’d see her at the diner later.

  She’d texted back with a smiley face and told him to be careful.

  He’d nearly texted back saying he was always careful. But then he decided not to. Mainly because he wondered if careful entered anywhere into their situation.

  Oh, he knew they were only pretending to date. That when she’d revealed her circumstances, a real relationship was out of the question.

  But what had happened last night? There had been nothing fake about his actions…or her reaction.

  He’d liked it.

  More than liked it, he…

  He set his teeth together.

  He needed to keep his head in the game.

  He and Dari had talked a little while longer, then his friend had signed off with a quiet, “If you need anything, call.”

  Mace suspected that Dari had been talking about more than his assignment.

  They were nearing the point where he’d run into the hooded man on the street earlier. He went on alert, actively scanning the areas he’d seen the guy. Unfortunately, he’d lost him in the crowd. That meant one of two things: he lived in the area or he was the one they needed to watch out for.

  “Damn.”

  “What is it?” Falcone asked.

  He indicated the corner of the next block where a group of people with signs were gathered.

  “Looks to be protesters,” Falcone noted.

  That’s exactly what they were. Even at a distance, he could read the signs that ranged from, “Go Home and Be a Man, Norman!” to “Think Outside My Box!”

  He’d allowed for the possibility of protestors. He just didn’t like that they were gathered so close to where he’d run into the suspicious character earlier.

  “I’m getting out,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Slow down.”

  He issued the command for the lead car to do the same, which would alert the limo driver to follow suit, allowing him to walk alongside the cars until he felt it was safe to move forward.

  He climbed out, unfastened the protective strap of his shoulder holster and stepped up next to the limo, careful of traffic coming in the opposite direction.

  He heard a woman’s scream from his left, then a shot rang out.

  Damn!

  He watched as a bullet hit the limo’s shockproof passenger’s window and ricocheted off.

  “Move, move, move!” he ordered through his earpiece.

  The lead car took off and the limo followed, as did Falcone, protocol dictating the target be protected first, leaving him behind.

  He ran in the direction the gunshot had been fired from…

  * * *

  GENEVA LOOKED at the wall clock that hung above the jukebox for the fifth time in as many minutes. Seven o’clock had come and gone, and other than the brief text that morning she’d received from Mace saying he’d see her later, she hadn’t heard from him.

  “What’s the matter? He stand you up?”

  The words came from Tiffany, who appeared a little too smug for her liking, and were loud enough for everyone—including Mel in the back—to hear.

  She caught Trudy’s gaze through the window from where she worked in the kitchen and tried not to make a face.

  She wasn’t so much afraid of being stood up as she was worried about Mace’s safety.

  Word of the attempt on General Norman’s life was all everyone was talking about. It dominated the news that played on the television in the upper corner of the diner that was usually set to a national news channel and muted so you had to read the scroll but it had been changed to a local station to keep up on developing reports on the event.

  The goings-on had brought out more people than usual for a Wednesday night. Reactions ranged from “They shouldn’t have missed,” to “There are a lot of crazies out there.”

  All Geneva could think about was Mace’s safety.

  In the middle of refilling the coffee cups on Table 3, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She nearly spilled the hot liquid as she hurried to get it out.

  “Sorry,” she said, hurrying away.

  Mace!

  “Hey,” he said simply when she answered.

  “Hey, yourself. You okay?”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah. What happened today is all over the news.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he said, but she wasn’t convinced. “Sorry, I’m late.”

  A thrill ran up her arms at the thought he was still coming. “It’s okay. The diner’s packed.”

  But she had reserved a booth in the corner after the last occupants had vacated it at six-thirty.

  “Will you be long?” she asked.

  “I’m here.”

  His words sounded both in her phone…and her free ear.

  She turned to see him behind her.

  She was sure people around her thought her insane as she ran toward him and hugged him ha
rd…

  * * *

  MACE HAD SEEN such welcomes over the years. At airports, on bases. He’d watched wives and girlfriends embrace their loved ones like they might never let them go.

  But he had never been on the receiving end of one.

  He couldn’t help chuckling, breathing in the sweet scent of Geneva’s hair. “If that’s your reaction to my being late, I’ll have to arrange to do it more often.”

  She drew back and smiled up at him. “I’d advise against it. Trust me.”

  Was it possible he missed her? Yes, it was. He’d missed her smile, her wit, her presence. It should have struck him as odd, but somehow it didn’t.

  “Sorry I’m late. Something came up at work.”

  She squinted. “I already figured that out.” She indicated the television. He looked to see the scene from today being played out via someone’s cell phone camera.

  He frowned, watching the cars race off even as he ran after the gunman. But just as had happened earlier, he hadn’t found him. Or her, as the case may be.

  But he’d bet a year’s salary the hooded man from earlier in the day was the one behind the shooting.

  “Are you okay?” Geneva asked.

  “What? Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” At least he was now. Earlier, he’d been so worked up, he’d barely been able to speak without shouting. He couldn’t help thinking they should have been able to prevent the incident.

  He should have been able to prevent it.

  “Come on. Let’s sit down,” Geneva said.

  She led him to a corner booth and righted the coffee cup waiting there, filling it from the pot she’d put down before hugging him.

  He watched the easy, fluid way she moved. Took in the concerned expression on her beautiful face. The way her hair curled around her head. The bow of her lips as she bit on the bottom one, caught herself, and then stopped.

  “Hungry for anything in particular?” she asked.

  You, he wanted to say.

  He hadn’t said it, but given the way her eyes darkened as she looked at him, he thought he might have.