False front, p.5
False Front, page 5
The woman was older than Emma, closer to Nathan’s age, and she hooked her hand around his bicep with an enthusiasm that didn’t suit her. Nathan didn’t seem to notice; he simply looked at Emma with his eyebrows raised in a smug gaze.
Nathan must have been used to a different reaction to his rejection. As the emotion drained from her face at the sight of them, Emma switched into auto-response. Her psychologist said it was an emotional safe zone that was understandable given her history. Caroline called it her “robot mode.” It wasn’t obvious to the casual observer, but it was there. Her face went pleasantly blank. She blinked at them calmly, then turned to gather her things. She did what Nathan had done just moments ago and organized her external world as inside she shut down.
Something about it must have alarmed Nathan because she suddenly felt his hand on her back.
“Emma?” She was uncomfortable being touched and didn’t allow strangers to touch her. Ever. But this was Nathan. His hand felt so good on that innocent place between her shoulder blades, but it didn’t matter.
“Yes?”
“Alex and I have plans. Are we good to wrap it up for the day?”
“Yes. This was great. Thank you.” She had pushed him too far and exposed herself stupidly, and his summoning of Alex confirmed that. His force field was back in place. Emma didn’t know if he regretted this extreme show of unavailability or not, but he huffed out a sigh and ran his hand down his face. Maybe he had expected a protest or nonchalance, but her subtle detachment seemed to trouble him. Alex shifted impatiently in her periphery.
“So, I’ll see you Friday then?” he asked, ignoring Alex.
“Friday?” It was Wednesday. Emma thought they had weekly interviews scheduled.
“Yes, Friday. It’s like my shrink says, ‘’I think we’re going to need to see each other twice a week to get through all this crap.’” He did exactly what she had done—tried to coax her out by lightening the mood. He wanted her to laugh. She forced a smile.
“All right.”
“Four o’clock.” It wasn’t a request. “We’ll need to meet at my apartment. I’m working from home Friday.” He grabbed her phone and entered his contact information, then texted himself. “I’ll text you the address.” Alex cleared her throat and a brief look of annoyance passed Nathan’s face. Emma did nothing to indicate her inward pleasure at his response.
“All right,” she replied flatly.
It wasn’t an act. It was just how she was. She shut down in the face of any strong emotion. Honestly, she was lucky it hadn’t happened earlier with him. Emma moved toward the door and skirted around Alex, who was standing her ground. She looked up at the other woman impassively but acknowledging her as the alpha female in the room. “Nice meeting you,” she said as she passed. Alex didn’t reply.
Nathan followed Emma out of the room and gently spun her to face him. “Emma?” She stared up at him. “We good?”
“Of course. I’ll see you Friday,” she stated without inflection.
He sighed.
“Okay, good. If I got one more ‘all right’ out of you I was going to stab myself in the thigh with a letter opener.”
“All right.” She smiled wickedly, coming back to herself. He laughed; it was relieved and genuine. His assistant, Aggie, looked up, briefly stunned. She took in the two of them and quickly returned to her work. Emma stepped toward the elevator and looked softly at him. He shook his head and headed back to his office. After his door closed, she pretended to fiddle with her phone until a harried-looking man in a rumpled suit approached, and they rode down together.
Out on the street, a black Range Rover idled at the curb. An extremely muscular, bald, black man in a suit approached her. Instinctively, Emma searched out JT, who was standing nearby and seemed at ease.
“Ms. Porter?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Andrew. Mr. Bishop requested I take you home.” Obviously, JT had checked out the car and figured out what Nathan was doing. Nathan would never suspect she had her own car and driver. She was making twenty-three grand a year as a reporter. He was being incredibly thoughtful. She climbed into the back of the car and thanked Andrew. He winked and Emma thought he was charming. As they pulled into traffic, her phone pinged and, when she glanced at the contact name Nathan had entered into her phone, she burst out laughing.
Mr. Wonderful: Don’t flirt with my driver.
Emma: No promises, Mr. Wonderful.
Mr. Wonderful: Well, you’re crap at it anyway, so go for it.
Emma: There are plenty of guys who disagree.
Mr. Wonderful: I see through you.
Emma: I guess I need to work on my act.
Mr. Wonderful: Please don’t.
Emma: What’s my contact name on your phone btw?
Mr. Wonderful: Emma Porter.
Emma: Liar.
Mr. Wonderful: That information is “need to know.”
Emma: I’ll worm it out of you. I’m very persuasive.
Mr. Wonderful: You know I’ve been interrogated by the Taliban, right?
Emma: Seriously???
Mr. Wonderful: See you Friday.
Emma: That’s just mean.
Mr. Wonderful: It’s a teaser. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept. Gotta go.
She tossed her phone into her bag and checked over her shoulder. JT was following in the Suburban at a good distance. Andrew was none the wiser, although surely as Nathan’s driver he would have been trained to watch for a tail. If he was aware of JT, he didn’t react. In fact, he didn’t say another word the entire drive home. Emma rested her head on the soft black leather and closed her eyes. She briefly thought of the interview and noted with mild surprise that Nathan had not once mentioned his father. It was no secret that the late Henry Bishop was no gem, and Emma herself had witnessed his coldness toward his son, but Nathan had taken over his father’s company. Surely there was some sense of, if not affection, loyalty to his father to step into his shoes.
Emma gave herself a metaphorical pat on the back for thinking like a reporter. She made a note to follow that thread. More importantly, she needed to shut down this emotional magnet drawing her to Nathan. She had charged into a situation that neither her mind nor her body was prepared for. It was all well and good to love Nathan Bishop from afar. She was good at loving him from afar. She was devoted to him. Up close? She wasn’t emotionally equipped to handle “up close” with anyone. Fourteen years of therapy and countless first dates had taught her that. No. She needed to get the story, write a great piece about a fascinating man, and go on her not-so-merry way. For the next six weeks, she was going to focus on work and love Nathan Bishop from afar, up close.
That’s what she kept telling herself.
Nathan sat at his desk finishing a conversation on the satellite phone. His best friend, Miller “Tox” Buchanan, sat sprawled on the couch. He had earned his call sign on his SEAL team, because, where most people liked to detox after a wild night, Miller liked to, as he put it, “retox.” Of course, at six-feet, five-inches and 280 pounds, it took more than a couple of beers to intoxicate him in the first place, adding to his rep. Despite his size, reputation, and general demeanor, Tox was a gentle soul. The only person who ever seemed to get hurt in encounters with Tox was Tox. Andrew “Chat” Dunlap sat in the chair to his right, reading an article from a Spanish language news site on his tablet. His caramel complexion was unlined and his mocha eyes were placid. Nathan “North” Bishop ended the call and turned to the men.
Working in Naval Intelligence, Nathan considered these men his brothers. While he hadn’t been a SEAL, he was integral in many of their ops, once leading them out of a labyrinth of Afghan caves better than any compass or tech, earning him his call sign “North.”
“Harris and Steady handled the extraction. A certain Thai prison official can now afford a beach house in Phuket, but the boys are headed back to Duke after learning a valuable lesson about the dangers of doing drugs.”
“Or at least the dangers of crossing borders with drugs in your carry-on bag. Idiots.” Tox rolled his eyes. Chat chuckled.
North continued, “I’m keeping my eye on the pro-democracy protests in Hong Kong. Some Americans have been detained. Also, the British activist Toshi Peele is making noise about joining in, and the Chinese government has already promised to arrest her.”
“Copy that.” Tox stretched his massive frame and re-sprawled. “How’s your lady friend?”
“Fine. Nothing to report there.”
Chat looked up from his tablet and nailed Nathan with an assessing gaze.
“What?”
Chat quirked a brow.
Nathan sighed, “Well, I can see you’re not going to let this go. I met with her last night. Cocked it up six ways to Sunday. She was here today.” He swung the first ball on the Newton’s Cradle on his desk. The clacking filled the silence. “She clearly wants more than the fluff piece I was expecting. She’s . . . probing.”
“Aww, and you wanted to be the one doing the probing,” Tox smirked. Chat pointed at him with a you-got-that-right nod.
“Ever since she interrupted that meeting—Jesus, was it two years ago? I’ve just . . . I don’t know, wanted to see her again.”
“Get your fucking tie back. I hate it when women steal my clothes.”
“You rescued her. You feel responsible for her. It’s not uncommon.” Chat shared his insight without looking up from his tablet.
“It feels uncommon.”
“Twitch checked her out, right?” Tox asked. Their computer whiz kid could find out where someone lost their first set of keys. The youngest and most talented of the group, Twitch sported Coke bottle glasses and a long red ponytail that the guys routinely threatened to cut off. She hadn’t been in the military, and her surprisingly optimistic outlook on life was a breath of fresh air.
“Of course. No red flags. A couple of speeding tickets. Arrested, but not charged, at an animal rights protest in college. Clean, but not squeaky clean.” A squeaky-clean background was a red flag in itself.
Tox stood, grabbed a handful of Skittles from a bowl on the table and walked to the door. “I’m free for hair braiding and a tickle fight later, but right now I need to check in with our resident hacker—sorry—programmer. Little matter of national security.”
“Let me know what Twitch scares up. I spoke with Cerberus. So far there’s just a lot of rumor and speculation. All we know at this point is that something was recovered in China that has every terrorist with a bank balance licking their chops.”
“Twitch discovered a dark auction site called River Styx. Heavily encrypted. She’s trying to find an ‘in’ that doesn’t tip them off.”
Nathan gave a dark chuckle. “It’s like the virtual version of the guys selling knockoffs on Canal Street. Cops come by, the vendors shut the stand down and open it back up half a block away.”
“I’ll keep you updated.”
“All right. God, all of a sudden I hate those two words.”
Chat looked up from gathering his things, then headed out without comment. Tox turned before following him out the door.
“When the dust settles on this, I want Twitch to do a deep dive on Emma Porter. Something just feels off.”
“Come on, Tox. A two-year-long set up is an elaborate con, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, but there’s no harm in checking.”
“I guess you’re right.”
“You good?”
“Yeah.” But as Tox pulled the door closed with a quiet snick, Nathan wondered what it was about Emma Porter that was so unsettling.
Mother’s was packed for a Wednesday. On the sidewalk, Caroline and Emma skirted a group of smokers and two guys having a heated argument, while the bouncer, Jorge, watched as they pushed into the bar. Caroline wore frayed white cutoffs, Chucks, and a black T-shirt that bore the caption: it’s polite to wait until you’re asked. Emma was in a flowy white camisole, torn up blue jeans and flip flops. JT was out front chatting with Jorge.
Emma ordered her usual club soda and cranberry and a light beer for Caroline. The bartender, Jake, waved off her money; he and Caroline were friends. She left a tip on the bar and returned to her bestie, who had nabbed a small table.
“Okay, talk. How was it?”
“Good. Productive.”
“Em . . . .”
“He’s different now.”
“Well, let me think.” She tapped the middle of her forehead with two fingers. “He’s not twelve anymore, could that be it?”
“He’s a playboy,” Emma despaired.
“He’s hot. Of course, there are going to be women.”
“You know his rep.”
“I know, but the tabloids love him,” Caroline soothed. “If he went for a walk in the park with a girl, it would be in The Star, and it would be salacious.”
“True.”
“What else?” Caroline probed.
“He might have a death wish.”
“I’ve read about some of his pastimes. He missed his calling as a stuntman.”
“Get this, in September he’s going to free solo in the Atlas Mountains.” Emma shuddered.
“Huh.” Caroline paused in thought and took a swig of her beer.
“What?”
“It’s just an odd location. Why there? I mean, you can rock climb anywhere.”
“Maybe he’s going to party in Marrakesh after.” Emma rolled her eyes.
“I guess.”
Something about the way Caroline said it gave Emma pause. Making a mental note to revisit Nathan’s background, she returned to her train of thought.
“He’s bad for me, Car.”
“How so?”
“When I’m with him I’m . . .”
“You’re what?”
“I’m Emily.”
Caroline gasped but covered it quickly with another swig of her beer. Caroline hadn’t heard Emma say her real name in fifteen years.
“What’s she like?” Caroline asked with a sincerity Emma rarely saw.
“Terrifying.” She shuddered and sucked on her straw. “And terrified.” Before Caroline could peel the onion on Emma’s response, a voice boomed from the door.
“Caroline!”
Marcus Pratt was Caroline’s one friend at CNN. He was an editor and had taken to Caroline’s ballsy personality right away. Perhaps because he was so shy and quiet, or maybe he could tell she was going places.
“Marcus, what’s up?”
“Sorry to bust in,” he panted, “your doorman said you were here.”
“What’s going on?”
“The hurricane is big news. I guess the damage is record-setting. Upstairs wants you to do a short piece, teasing a follow-up story. The storms are working their way up the coast and they want a story to coincide. ‘Caroline talking Hurricane Caroline’ has everybody totally jazzed. Felicity was there, and she was pissed. Said she would take it over, but it’s your story now. Felicity said she would shoot it tonight if you weren’t there, knowing full well you were gone for the day.” He rested both hands on top of his head. “If we head back now, you can do the promo.”
Caroline was on her feet before Marcus had finished, correctly predicting how his story ended. She gave an apologetic smile, and Emma waved without a thought.
“Go. Kick ass.”
“Thanks, Em. Be home later.”
Caroline and Marcus jumped into a cab as Emma waved goodnight from the sidewalk. That was going to be an interesting editing session. Emma had walked about ten steps when she felt a meaty hand on her shoulder and was hauled around to face an extremely red-faced guy with an unsteady gaze.
“Hey,” he said to the side of her face.
“Hey,” she replied, feeling immediately put out, “I’m just heading home.”
“Here’s the thing. You’re hot.”
“I know.”
“Wow, and you’re kind of a bitch.”
“I know.” Emma started scrolling through her phone.
“Why don’t you pass me that, and I’ll enter my number.”
“No, thanks.”
Emma wasn’t handling him well, but she was out of sorts, and the guy was pissing her off. Where did he get the nerve? Although based on his breath, she knew the answer.
“Okay, how ‘bout if I just feel your tits and send you on your merry way?”
The wave of laughter and fist bumps confirmed his buddies had formed an audience, and he was now showboating. JT was leaning against the storefront reading a text. He looked up when he heard ‘tits’ and just chuckled to himself as he backhanded Jorge on the arm with a ‘get a load of this’ expression. He turned to watch the exchange more closely but made no move to come to her rescue.
“Go for it.” She cocked a brow at Red Face.
If he was stunned by her reply, he covered it with a forced cockiness in front of his onlookers and reached out his hand to her chest.
Thumb bent back, knee to the groin, heel of her hand to his nose. It took all of three seconds. A few of his friends rushed to help him. One yelled, “you fucking cunt!”
Yeah, I’m the bad guy here.
JT just shook his head smiling and, when Jorge waved them off, ushered her toward her building. One of Red Face’s friends moved to confront Emma but thought better of it when he took in the skyscraper now flanking her. Across the street, something caught her eye. A man sat in a town car, which wasn’t unusual, but the way he was holding his phone put her on edge. She had had her picture taken enough to know what it meant when someone was holding their phone like that. Maybe he had videotaped the scuffle. Although, from that angle he wouldn’t have been able to capture it well. That also didn’t explain why he continued to hold his phone upright. When he saw Emma looking at him with a WTF expression, he simply tossed the phone on his passenger seat and pulled out into traffic. Emma noted the license plate and that was that.
“Who was Mr. Subtle in the Lexus?”
Emma looked up, surprised to see JT watching the same thing.
“No idea.”
“Nice takedown by the way. He was a big guy,” JT praised.
