“I’m sure they don’t go poking into his bedrooms, but I’ll hang some of my clothes in his closet and leave some extra toiletries on his bathroom counter.”
“You have that part all figured out, then?”
“As much as possible at this point.” I tap my backpack. “I made some preliminary notes and a list of things to discuss on the flight. That way, we can get to know each other and create a cover story.”
“A whirlwind summer romance?”
I nod.
“Fell in love and eloped?”
I shake my head. “They’re very traditional. Married at hisparents’ estate.”
“Did they approve?”
Now, she’s just being cheeky. “Yet to be determined.”
She looks impressed as she shrugs. Then her eyes widen, and her mouth forms a circle all at once. Del dashes back into my room and returns with a white, strapless sundress I bought on a whim last year during a moment of weakness. I’d spent a month on assignment in the Caribbean only to return to the constant drizzle in London. I’d told myself then I needed a pick-me-up.
“Just a pretense.” She yanks the tag off, giving me a sly glance. “You would have worn some kind of dress and surely brought it with you. Brides are sentimental that way.”
Convinced she has ulterior motives, I lower my eyelids to study her micro-expressions.
“I’m not that easy to get rid of, doll. Remember, I’m part of your team on this assignment.”
That’s my one comfort in this unusual scenario. I grab the dress and stuff it into the front pocket of my suitcase. “Whatever makes you happy, Del.”
She laughs. “And gets me off your back, right?”
“Affirmative.”
Bodies move around the airport like ants swarming a nest. Delilah flew out the day before to check out the arena and the principal’s apartment complex in Sarabella. Since the Maxwells are mostly unknown in the States, and a definitive threat hasn’t been confirmed, she and I will operate as a basic team. Meaning, we’ll tap into local resources if needed, which she’ll establish as well.
I probably know this airport better than most who work here, but the people are always changing. After checking in and dropping off my bag, I scope the general areas from theentrance to security before backtracking to wait outside for my client.
Head constantly on a swivel, I make note of those lingering in the near vicinity. Most move quickly into the airport, carrying bags and suitcases with them as they scurry inside. Those don’t concern me. It’s the ones hanging around outside that have me watchful.
Like the tall brunette standing to my right, toting only an oversized bag. She crosses her arms and nervously searches the constant flow of vehicles moving through the passenger drop-off zone.
I suspect she’s looking for the boyfriend she fears may be a no-show as she checks her cell for the umpteenth time. Mentally, I shake my head, recognizing the impending disappointment as the realization sets in. Indecision will follow next as she tries to decide whether to leave on her own and make the best of the situation. Or, if she’s the ballsy type, to find the loser and tell him off.
Of course, there’s the slim possibility that she’s a hired killer, and this is all an act, but reading people is one of my strengths. My gut tells me she’s exactly what she appears, so I move on, scouting the area while watching for the vehicle transporting my assignment.
Maxwell Payton, the third. I hope his insistence on meeting at the airport with the excuse that an escort would create unnecessary fuss isn’t his way of being artificially noble. This charade of playing his wife will prove challenging enough as it is.
A black sedan pulls up to the curb, displaying the plate number I memorized from his family’s credentials. Before the vehicle comes to a complete stop, the rear door opens, and my principal jumps out, slinging a duffel across his shoulders. For a moment, I’m transfixed by the contours and definition of his forearms as he adjusts the strap across his chest.The picture in his file showed him with short hair. Not the collar-length, tousled style he’s sporting now.
I move in closer, prepared to make contact. But then he leans in through the open passenger side window and shakes hands with the driver, whose animated expression reveals pure delight.
“Thanks again, Bruv.” The driver holds out a piece of paper and a pen, which Mr. Maxwell takes, then scrawls something across the white surface.
“My pleasure. And if you find yourself in the States, make a stop in Sarabella and say hello.” He straightens as the car pulls away.
Not quite what I anticipated, then again, this is my first assignment with any kind of royalty. But I did expect someone softer and with more luggage.
I close the gap but keep a good three feet between us. “Mr. Maxwell.”
He spins around. Momentary confusion flits across his face before his grin flashes into place. “Did you want an autograph as well?”
