Close Quarters Page 2

  Vaughn flipped through his packet and paused at the pictures of the Impenniolla crime scene. The body lay facedown in a driveway in front of a vine-covered villa. There seemed to be blood everywhere, soaking the man’s shirt, spreading out around his body. In one of the photographs, police officers were marking off the crime scene, but there were a few spectators looking on. A little girl with blond curls stood in front of a woman who was clearly her mother, and both were hysterically crying, mouths open in silent wails. For some reason, Vaughn couldn’t tear his eyes away from that little girl.

  “Impenniolla was gunned down in front of his family at their vacation home outside Naples,” Roscoe said, noticing the page Vaughn held on his lap. “These people are ruthless, and they are damn good at keeping their identities secret. We could be dealing with a force of anywhere from ten people to a hundred.”

  Vaughn swallowed hard and finally closed his packet over that terrified little face. He knew firsthand what it was like to lose a father as a child—his own father, a CIA agent, had been killed in the line of duty when Vaughn was just a boy, and not a day passed that he didn’t think of him and of what was lost. But to see it happen—to have a parent brutally murdered right before your eyes . . . Vaughn was certain he would never have recovered from that.

  “These people are monsters,” Elena said, her dark eyes horrified behind her black-rimmed glasses.

  Vaughn couldn’t have agreed more.

  “That’s why we have to take them down,” Roscoe said, loosening his tie slightly. “While we’re in New York, we have to do everything possible to find any members of this faction and bring them in. These people made a big mistake coming to the U.S. Let’s make sure they go back to Italy in cuffs.”

  Vaughn looked up at Roscoe and locked eyes with him. He nodded his assent, determined. He would do whatever it took to protect Marianna Toscana from these bastards. If anyone tried anything, they were going down.

  He opened his packet again and got to work, studying every last detail the pages provided. As he read, he felt his pre-mission adrenaline rush start to kick in and smiled, welcoming the familiar sensation. Maybe this wasn’t such a lame mission after all.

  * * *

  In the plushly carpeted hallway outside President Toscana’s suite at the Plaza Hotel in New York City, Vaughn stood against the wall alongside Chloe, Barry, and Elena. He felt like a first grader lining up before being walked to gym class. Only now he was nervous. He’d never been nervous about PE in his life.

  “What do you think they’re like?” Chloe whispered, eyeing the two impossibly large Italian secret service men who stood on either side of the door. Agent Roscoe was inside at the moment, talking to the first family and briefing them on the security detail the CIA was providing for Marianna.

  “From everything I’ve heard, Toscana is a good man,” Vaughn replied. “He started out as a local politician and worked his way up through the ranks.”

  “So why do these La Rappresaglia people hate him so much?” Chloe asked, smoothing her hair down behind her ears—her only nervous tic, as far as Vaughn had observed.

  “It can be tough to explain the motivations of psychotics,” Vaughn replied. The moment the words were out of his mouth, the door to the suite opened, and his heart skipped a beat.

  Agent Roscoe stuck his head out into the hallway. “We’re ready for you.”

  He opened the door a bit wider and a loud female voice blasted into the hallway, screeching in Italian. The woman was speaking too fast for Vaughn to understand it all, but she was saying something like, “How could you do this to me? Why do you hate me?”

  Vaughn and Chloe exchanged a wary glance. “You sure?” Chloe asked Agent Roscoe. “They don’t sound ready.”

  “She’ll adjust,” Roscoe told them. Then his brow furrowed. “Hopefully.”

  Great. Just what I need, Vaughn thought as he entered the room with the rest of the team. President Toscana and his wife stood near the windows across the living area, clearly pleading with their daughter. The moment they saw the agents walk in, a young woman Vaughn recognized as Marianna narrowed her eyes and stormed over to the nearest couch.

  The first daughter had definitely outgrown the awkward phase she’d been struggling with in the video Betty had shown them. Gone were the braces and unruly curls, replaced with gleaming white teeth and shoulder-skimming sleek black hair. She wore a pair of form-fitting jeans, black leather boots, and a black cashmere sweater. Diamonds sparkled in her ears. She sat, crossed her legs at the knee and her arms over her chest, and slumped down.

  “Non sono una bambina,” she said under her breath, pouting.

  Oh, no, you’re not a baby, Vaughn thought sarcastically.

  President Toscana and his wife rearranged their distressed expressions into warm smiles and walked over to greet the team.

  “Mr. President, Mrs. Toscana,” Roscoe said, nodding. “These are our tech specialists, Elena and Barry. This is Agent Chloe Murphy, who will be working point. And this is Agent Michael Vaughn, who will be assisting Marianna’s personal security detail.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” President Toscana said, shaking their hands. “I can’t thank you enough for your concern for my daughter’s safety.”

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” Vaughn said sincerely, noting the president’s firm grip. “I think I speak for the team when I say that we will do everything in our power to make sure Marianna is protected.”

  “Thank you,” President Toscana said with a slight bow.

  “I apologize for Marianna’s rudeness,” Mrs. Toscana added in a lilt Vaughn recognized as Milanese. She lifted her chin and shot a reprimanding glance at her daughter. “She does not take well to authority.”

  “Who does?” Chloe joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  The president and his wife chuckled, and Vaughn cracked a smile. He turned to look at Marianna, determined to make some kind of inroad with her. She looked up at him and blinked, her dark eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Wait a minute,” she said in perfect English. “He’s my new baby-sitter?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way,” Vaughn said politely, with a deferential smile. So she’s on to her parents’ plan too.

  Marianna stood up. “I had no idea Americans could be so hot,” she said after a moment’s pause, looking him up and down with what could only be called a leer.

  “Marianna!” Mrs. Toscana scolded, paling.

  Vaughn managed an embarrassed laugh. “Thanks. I think.” Then, feeling every pair of eyes in the room boring into him, he cleared his throat and headed for safer ground. “Ms. Toscana, I assure you that the CIA is dedicated to ensuring your stay in New York is a safe one,” he said, all business.

  Agent Roscoe stepped in and gave the Italian first family a rundown of the security detail and what they could expect from Vaughn and Chloe.

  Marianna’s smile widened as she stepped closer to Vaughn—so close he could smell her perfume. He knew she was messing with him just to annoy her parents, and he stood as still as possible, gazing right back into her dark eyes, refusing to let her get the better of him. But inside he was growing more and more irritated. Clearly this girl did not understand the gravity of her situation. Hadn’t she seen the footage of the Impenniolla murder? Didn’t she understand that these people were serious?

  “So . . . you have to go wherever I go, right?” Marianna asked, tilting her head back to look up at him.

  “That’s my assignment, yes,” Vaughn said, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Fabulous,” Marianna said. To Vaughn’s relief, she turned and walked across the room, freeing him from the torture of scrutiny and the heady feeling her perfume had brought on. She grabbed a purse from the coffee table, picked up a cream-colored suede jacket, and stalked across the room to the door. One of the bodyguards who stood along the wall stepped up next to her. He was a large, solid-looking guy with huge jowls and a frown that appeared permanent.

 
“Follow me,” Marianna said to Vaughn.

  Vaughn shot a glance at Roscoe, who pressed his lips together and shrugged in a “What can I do?” gesture.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you,” Vaughn told the president and first lady. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”

  “Thank you, Agent Vaughn,” the president said, shaking Vaughn’s hand again. Then he lowered his voice and drew Vaughn a bit closer to him. “Good luck,” he added.

  Vaughn attempted a smile, but his stomach shriveled. Great. Even her father thought a little luck was in order.

  “Agent Vaughn . . . Michael . . . can I call you Mikey?” Marianna asked, arching her eyebrows as he approached.

  “Agent Vaughn would be fine,” he replied.

  “Okay, Mikey,” Marianna said with a mischievous grin. “This is my bodyguard, Dominic Rizzio.” She slapped her hand against the frowning man’s chest. “You two may as well get to know each other. You’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

  Vaughn held his hand out to Dominic to shake, but Dominic just stared him down with disgust and followed Marianna out of the room. Vaughn reddened and turned to look at Chloe. She smiled and discreetly flashed him a sarcastic thumbs-up, her back to the president and his wife.

  Vaughn took a deep breath and followed his charge and her surly companion. Suddenly he had a feeling this was going to be a very long day.

  3

  “Mikey, would you say you’re more into red lace or basic black?”

  Vaughn stood in the entrance to the Victoria’s Secret dressing room and rolled his eyes at the closed door Marianna was changing behind. She’d been trying to irritate him, embarrass him, and otherwise harass him all day, but the really annoying thing was that she wasn’t even attempting to be coy about it. For a woman who had attended some of the finest schools in the world, she definitely hadn’t learned the art of subtlety.

  “I would bet you are a basic black person,” she said. Vaughn could see her feet moving under the bottom of the door as she stepped in and out of various items of clothing. “You don’t seem like the adventurous type.”

  Yeah. If you could have seen what I was doing last week at this time, you wouldn’t say that, Vaughn thought. He had never thought any experience could make him long for the desert fatigues and foxholes he’d found himself in back in the Middle East, but this shopping excursion was getting him there.

  Vaughn sighed and looked around the store. None of the other dressing rooms was occupied, but the store was packed with shoppers—not the most secure environment. Vaughn had suggested that they call ahead and ask the store to close for an hour—they did that for famous people, didn’t they? But Marianna would have none of it. She wanted to be part of “reality,” as she said, traipsing down the streets of Soho and the Village seemingly oblivious to the curious stares of passers-by.

  “Does your bodyguard make a habit of disappearing and leaving you alone in crowded shops?” Vaughn asked through the door.

  “Dominic just went outside for a smoke,” Marianna called over the sounds of hangers rattling. “I believe he’s a bit offended by your presence.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Vaughn said flatly.

  Dominic had, in fact, been giving Vaughn the silent treatment all morning—unless grunts, groans, and actual growls counted as communication. As Marianna dragged them to store after store on Fifth Avenue, gradually winding her way downtown to this lingerie store, which Vaughn hoped would be the last stop, Dominic had spurned every one of Vaughn’s attempts at conversation. Finally, somewhere between Chanel and Tocca, Vaughn had given up.

  He eyed the dozens of colorful packages at his feet. Marianna had refused to leave a single item in the limo—just in case she wanted to try something on over the lingerie. Vaughn had spent fifteen minutes carrying it all inside while Dominic sat in the front seat of the limo, chatting in Italian on his cell phone. It wasn’t until Vaughn had finished the transfer that Dominic had finally come inside. He’d hung out for two minutes, ogling mannequins and fingering a few silk slips before he’d disappeared.

  “So, Vaughn, what did you do today?” Vaughn imagined Chloe asking when he returned to the hotel.

  “Well, I trained as a personal shopper and a lackey,” Vaughn heard himself reply.

  He sighed again and shook his head, rubbing his brow between his thumb and forefinger. His brain started to list places he’d much rather be: on the ice playing hockey, on the phone catching up with Akiko, going for a nice long run. Hell, he’d rather be playing Scrabble. As long as it wasn’t with Elena or Barry, both of whom he was sure could kick his butt at any board game.

  “Are you almost done in there?” he asked, finally letting his impatience show.

  “Only a few more things to try on, Mikey,” Marianna said. He heard the lock on the door click and glanced up as it opened. Vaughn felt his face start to flush and did his best to control it. Marianna was standing there in a lavender nightie that barely covered the tops of her thighs. Her curls tumbled over her face, sexily covering one eye. She raised the visible eyebrow at him, leaning against the doorframe in a sultry pose.

  “What do you think of this?” Marianna asked, her full lips twisting into a playful smirk. “Purple has always been my color.”

  Vaughn averted his eyes, making a show of inspecting the store. “Like you said, I’m a basic black man,” he lied. In truth, Marianna could have just stepped out of the Victoria’s Secret catalog itself. She looked that amazing.

  Too bad she’s a brat, Vaughn thought.

  He heard the dressing room door slam and took a deep breath. He ran another mental check of the customers in the store. There was the mother-daughter combo on the far side, looking over long, white nightgowns. A couple of teenagers hovered by the thongs, giggling and blushing and looking around furtively. Vaughn had a hunch they were shoplifting, but he let it go. He had bigger criminals to deal with.

  The young couple who had started out by the cotton pajamas was now inspecting some freaky-looking bustier-type things in the back of the store. A few other shoppers Vaughn had noticed before were lined up at the register. Everything appeared to be in order.

  Then Vaughn saw something move out of the corner of his eye. He turned and spotted a pair of middle-aged men hovering near one of the perfume displays. That was odd. In general men didn’t step into a store like this unless they had the buffer of a woman to deflect embarrassing questions from the salespeople. Every once in a while a braver guy would venture in to buy something for his wife or girlfriend, but they generally got in and out as quickly as possible. It was mid-March—too late for Valentine’s Day shopping, too early for Mother’s Day. So what were these two men doing here?

  “You about ready?” Vaughn asked Marianna, keeping his voice casual so as not to alarm her.

  “Patience, Mikey. Sheesh. Haven’t you ever had a girlfriend?” she replied.

  “My personal life is not your concern,” he said, a bit too forcefully. Ever since he’d drifted apart from his college girlfriend, Nora, Vaughn had pretty much written women off. Not that he didn’t want someone special. It just . . . well, it just wasn’t happening.

  One of the men looked up, directly at Vaughn, and he felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The two men parted, and one headed for the back corner of the store, out of Vaughn’s line of sight.

  “All right then, don’t move,” Vaughn said. “No matter what, just stay in the dressing room.”

  “Fine by me,” Marianna replied. “Going somewhere?”

  “Just stay put,” Vaughn said tersely. He wanted to get that second guy back in view.

  Slowly, trying to look like just another bored boyfriend, Vaughn moved away from the dressing room, always keeping one eye on the door. He walked to the center of the shop and saw the second guy talking with a saleswoman. The first man still hovered near the perfumes, absently looking through rows of bottles. He didn’t seem remotely interested in what he was
doing.

  These two are up to something. I can feel it, Vaughn thought. He glanced around the room for Dominic, hoping the only person who could possibly be called in for backup had finally decided to do his job, but the guy was nowhere to be found.

  Vaughn pressed his lips together and tried to keep his frustration in check. It wasn’t easy. What was wrong with these people? Didn’t they comprehend the seriousness of the threat they were dealing with?

  A loud crash behind Vaughn sent him whirling around, hand under his jacket, reaching for his gun. But his alarm was unfounded. The first shady man had simply knocked over about twenty glass bottles of perfume. A couple of saleswomen were instantly on the scene, helping the embarrassed, fumbling guy straighten the mess. Vaughn turned around again to check on the guy’s friend—and he was gone.

  Vaughn’s body temperature skyrocketed as he scanned the store, but the man was gone. He spun back toward the dressing room.

  “Marianna?” Vaughn said, arriving at the door.

  Nothing. Vaughn swallowed hard and looked at the space beneath the door to her room. No feet. No movement.

  A customer clasping a bunch of bras entered the hallway. “Closed,” Vaughn said brusquely, motioning the confused woman out.

  “Marianna? Are you still in there?” Vaughn asked.

  Please tell me I didn’t just mess up the easiest assignment in history, he thought, pulling his gun out. He held it in front of him with both hands, his pulse pounding in his ears. Reaching up with his right leg, he smashed the door to the dressing room in with one swift thrust.

  Marianna sat on a plush pink bench, in a corner a safe distance from the splintered door, fully clothed. She took one look at Vaughn’s distressed expression and began to laugh.