out. There was only so much discussion of food and cutlery that he could take. Did it really matter if the orchid table decorations were mauve or magenta? Was asparagus in season? Which vintage wine was the best?
His gaze rested on Tess. She was animated, engaging, charming. Her head tilted to the right when she listened. Tiny dimples appeared in her cheeks when she chuckled. Her laughter enchanted him, and he remembered going to great lengths to amuse her. He’d told jokes and surprised her with silly presents. In the early days of their lovemaking, he’d bought a pack of neon condoms so they could play hide-and-seek in the dark.
In the bedroom. Remembering her in his bed was a mistake, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Tess stretched out on the cream-colored sheets with one hand tangled in her silky black hair and her other arm reaching toward him. She had an exotic floral scent that reminded him of jasmine. He remembered the graceful curve of her hips, her tiny waist and her perfect breasts that she thought were too small. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
And he had to stop thinking about her. He couldn’t afford distractions. Not when there was the potential for danger in this very house.
He rose from the table and asked for directions to the restroom. Back to the foyer and down the hall to the right, it was the first door. He walked slowly, getting his bearings. The foyer was two stories tall with beveled glass windows on each side of the double front door. To his right was a curving staircase with marble banister and a toga-draped goddess statue standing where the newel post should have been.
From the gallery above his head, Nolan overheard a conversation, male voices speaking Arabic. He was familiar enough with the language to catch the gist of what they were saying. They were talking about Bart. One man said that Bart Bellows had vanished and speculated that he might be in hiding. The other—who sounded like nephew Ben—mentioned the presence of CSaI operatives. He said that Nolan was Bellow’s ghul, referring to a monster from Arabian folklore, a ghoul.
Nolan liked the characterization. A ghul should be feared. And a ghul sure as hell wasn’t the handsome Joe Donovan.
The men were walking on the open galley above his head, moving out of earshot. The last thing he heard clearly was a mention of Wes Bradley—the alias that Bart’s son had been using for years. Wes Bradley had warned them, had told them that Bart wanted to disrupt their plans.
Nolan’s suspicions were confirmed. The Zamir family had contacted Tess because of her friendship with Bart. She was being drawn into a web of danger.
His first instinct was to protect her. But how could he become her bodyguard without telling her how and why she was in danger? He wouldn’t lie to Tess, but he wasn’t ready to reveal his identity.
In the ornate bathroom with gold faucets, embroidered towels and gold cherub soap dishes, he took out his cell phone. Initially, the plan had been for him and Harlan to coordinate the security for Governor Lockhart while continuing the search for Bart. More backup was necessary. Nolan needed to call the CSaI office in Freedom, Texas, and get the rest of the men up here ASAP.
He wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get from this bathroom tucked inside a mansion, but he was confident that no one could read his signal. Bart had provided him with an untraceable cell phone.
His call was answered on the first ring by Amelia Bond, who started with an accusation. “Nolan, you haven’t checked in at the hotel yet.”
“Is that a problem? Are you getting some kind of discount or something?”
“Discount? I think not. This is a five-star establishment with a helipad on top. And you’ve got a suite, buddy boy. I arranged for early arrival. They were expecting you.”
“So what? It’s a hotel. I’ll be there.” He’d been too anxious to see Tess to check in at the hotel. As soon as he’d picked up his rental, he’d gone directly to her office. “Nice job on the rental. I like a Mercedes.”
“I promise not to tell anybody about your champagne taste. It’s not good for your tough guy image.”
He heard the smirk in her voice and imagined her pushing her glasses up on her nose. Amelia was more than a receptionist or office assistant. In her unassuming but caustic way, she ran things at CSaI.
“Make travel arrangements,” he said. “I want everybody up here.”
“Not Nick Cavanaugh. He needs to be with Grace while her son is recovering from the bone marrow operation.”
“Cavanaugh should stay, of course. Family comes first.” More than ever before, he felt the truth of that statement.
“And I’m not scheduling anything until you tell me what’s going on.”
Nolan glanced toward the closed door to the bathroom. Though he was certain no one could hear him, he lowered his voice. “Our intel from Jessop is confirmed. Something’s going down, and Bart is in the middle of it. I need man power.”
“O-o-o-kay.” She drawled the word. “It sounds like you’re getting ready to storm the castle. How can I help?”
“We need to locate Victor Bellows or Wes Bradley or whatever he’s calling himself.” He remembered something Tess had said about the father-son relationship. “We need research on Victor’s background, his childhood and teen years. Who were his friends? His teachers? His doctors? Who influenced his life? I want to know why he and Bart were estranged.”
“I’m on it,” she assured him. “In the meantime, I know exactly where you should start.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Amelia had an uncanny knack for anticipating what they needed. He wasn’t sure if she was psychic or just so much smarter than everybody else that she was mentally two steps ahead.
“Lila Lockhart and Bart were good friends when Victor was growing up. I’ll bet she can tell you a lot. And she’ll be arriving at Pierpont House tomorrow.”
“Good call. Thanks, Amelia.”
He disconnected the call. Once he had the rest of the CSaI team operating at full speed, Nolan would be free to do the most important job of all—protecting Tess and Joey.
ON THE DRIVE back to her office, Tess sorted through the notes she’d taken at the Zamir house. Every little detail—from the calligraphy on the place cards to the fresh basil for the pesto—had to be exactly right. If she organized properly now, she could set aside these preparations until after the Smithsonian event that would be occupying all her time for the next four days.
“It’s a good thing I have my Christmas shopping done,” she said. “The only trick now is to keep Joey from finding his presents.”
“My mom used to wrap our presents and keep them locked in the trunk of her car,” Nolan said. “Worked pretty well.”
She remembered Joe telling her exactly the same story. So many little things about Nolan reminded her of him. “My mom wasn’t that tricky.”
“Did you find the presents?”
“Sometimes.” During the holiday season, she missed her family. “This is the second year in a row that Joey and I won’t be going to Chicago to share Christmas with my mom. Last year, the weather was too awful and the airport was closed. And there’s no way I can leave this year.
