any commanding officer giving a morally questionable order, Cade didn’t even blink.
“Affirmative. This mission is and will remain classified. Standard protocols.” Cade gestured to the door. “You have your orders. I expect them to be carried out, Lieutenant.”
All the best missions included careful planning, the right equipment, good weapons and the potential for danger.
This, sadly, was not one of those.
It’d taken him three days to prepare. Travel and arranging to stay at a buddy’s apartment in San Francisco had been easy enough. Negotiating a concealed weapons permit as a civilian had necessitated pulling a lot of strings, and getting his hands on the main equipment the admiral ordered—a fitted tuxedo—had taken even longer.
As far as the potential for danger went, after reading through the file and then doing the basic research any covert op required, Spence had come to the conclusion that while Alcosta came from so much dirt and the man was filthy by association, Alcosta’s own business practices were on the up-and-up. Since plenty of government agencies had reached the same conclusion, he was pretty sure that this mission was on par with a babysitting job.
A babysitting job that paid really well, Spence reminded himself. Besides, if he scored a position with Aegis, providing personal security would quite likely be part of the work description. Hopefully for high-level politicians, notable scientists and other high-risk VIPs, instead of his former commanding officer’s do-gooder daughter.
But an assignment was an assignment, he reminded himself as he strode down the hallway toward the ballroom, his motorcycle boots echoing with each step.
The only problem was, in the week since receiving the admiral’s orders, he hadn’t quite nailed down the specifics of infiltrating the daughter’s world. Maybe something with security. He’d figure it out once he’d assessed the situation. He hadn’t earned the call sign Improv for nothing.
With no plan more solid than making contact, Spence stepped into the sun-drenched ballroom, watching people scramble around like confused ants, arms filled with linens, peacock feathers and, for some weird reason, paintbrushes.
“Mia, half the tablecloths are missing.”
Spence looked around for his objective. Mia Cade.
According to the file, she was a willowy five-ten. Admiral Cade hadn’t included a photo, so Spence found himself searching for a thinner version of the admiral.
But there didn’t seem to be any white-haired, heavy-jowled women striding through the ballroom, with hands clasped behind their back while scowling at the workers scurrying around.
He did see a very tempting backside, though.
Her long, bare neck emphasized delicate shoulders and a slender back, wrapped in a vivid green tunic that draped over the sweet, tight curves of her butt encased in black leggings. He couldn’t be sure of her actual height since her knee-high boots had heels, but he’d put it close to five-ten.
She was either the target or the woman he’d be making breakfast for.
He angled to the left, wanting a better look.
“Excuse me.”
Spence shifted to one side to let a four-foot urn of flowers with legs pass.
Spence gave an appreciative hum when the sexy woman bent over to lift a cardboard box. Damned if that position didn’t give him a few intriguing ideas. His smile spread as he wondered if she’d do it again, to music.
His mind added a bluesy beat while he watched the woman’s backside as she handed the box off to a curly-haired blonde wearing a walkie-talkie and hoped like hell the sexy rear view didn’t belong to Cade’s daughter.
If luck was with him, the woman with the sexy backside had nothing to do with Mia Cade. Instead, he’d make contact with the target, she’d mention how cool it’d be to have a little security help and hire him, then introduce her sexy, dancing assistant, who’d want him working with her side by side.
Yeah. Spence could see that happening.
“Mia, the crystal is here but the cutlery is missing. Three waiters have called out sick and the, um, cellist? Is that what that says?” Tucking the box under one arm, the blonde held out a note. “Cellist? That’s the big violin, right? The sad-sounding thing?”
Damn. The sexy view was Mia Cade. Lust punctured like a dart in a balloon.
The last time he’d had luck like this, he’d lost his night vision.
“Dude, you’re right in the line of traffic.”
While Spence sidestepped the man wheeling in a dozen cases of wine on a dolly, his fantasy hurried off, leaving the blonde with a box anchored under one arm and a clipboard in the other.
Disappointment piercing his gut like a piece of shrapnel, Spence lasered in on the blonde, figuring her as his best in with his target.
“Excuse me.”
The blonde glanced up from the clipboard and pursed her lips as she got a good look at him. Brows arching, she gave a flirtatious flutter of her lashes.
“What can I do for you?” she purred. “I’m willing to do anything. Anything at all.”
“I’d like to speak with the lady in charge.”
The blonde stopped fluttering.
“You want Mia?” she asked, giving him a suspicious once-over. “Why?”
“I just need a second to talk with her. Why don’t I help you with that?” He gestured to the box.
“You’re here to help? Mia said Karen might send someone over. Great.” Practically tossing the box his way, the blonde gestured with her clipboard. “The way Mia organizes things, these events are usually a walk in the park. But I’ll be impressed if she manages to pull this one off.”
Someone yelled. Spence glanced over as the guy ran his dolly through the puddle of broken glass, mangled flowers and splattered water. He arched a brow when the florist scooped up a handful of bruised posies and whacked the other man with them.
“Things do look a little disorganized.”
“Mia’s usually on top of everything. She has a reputation as the queen of organized. But this is a mondo major event and her latest assistant flaked.” The blonde winced when the dolly guy pushed back. “This one only lasted three days—go figure. You’d think a person could handle a little constructive criticism while they’re learning the ropes of a new job, right?”
“You’d think,” Spence agreed, following her gesture to the small side room already piled high with boxes, and adding his to the stack the blonde gestured toward. “So, what’s the problem?”
“The assistant couldn’t handle
