Seducing Anne (2 page)

He tipped his head back and groaned so loud, he could feel it in the flooring. “No way. I never do mop-up. You know this.”

“I do, but like I said, we specifically need you this time.”

Click
.

“Bitch, you suck the fun out of every particle of air.” She better have several coffees waiting for him. After his last two assignments, he went through serious withdrawals. It hadn’t been available for the duration, and two months without caffeine was killer.

Two months. He smiled. That one broke records, too, with how quick he was about the execution and delivery. And that was supposed to be a difficult target.

God, he was good at this job.

Nobody questioned that.

He got up, hobbled to his closet and threw on the first pair of jeans he found along with a faded Rolling Stones tee shirt. His back popped as he leaned over for his shoes.

“This is bullshit,” he said, neck straining as his back complained.

By the time he was dressed and in his car, his spine was throbbing and his head was even worse.

He picked up his phone and called her back.

“Problem?” Kara answered the call.

“Send the damn car.”

Click.

Within ten minutes, the company car rolled into his driveway. The driver was obviously aware of whom he was going to be chauffeuring. He had “SHROAG fan” plastered all over his dopey grin and wide-eyed stare.

The second the driver hopped out of the car to greet Guy, he had shoved his phone out to him and asked him to sign the back. A marker was handed to him next, and Guy scrawled something unreadable on the back.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Moore!” the driver said.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Guy squinted. Was it always this bright in California, or did the sun decide it had been slacking lately and brightened to a level of excruciating light?

He shaded his eyes and got in the car gladly, ready to be done with this nonsense.

Kara met him at the entrance after they went through all the security protocols.

“How was your drive?” she asked.

He gave her the brow. “Riveting. Next time send me a driver that’s been on the road for more than two years.”

“Hey, don’t blame me—he volunteered, and he nearly cried last time I turned him down on an opportunity to meet you.” She flipped her platinum blonde hair over her shoulders one at a time.

“Your roots are showing, and so are your horns,” he said.

She laughed. “Oh damn. I thought I told you—part bull, that’s where the horns come from.”

“Yeah, part bullshit. I can’t believe you made me come in. You know it takes a solid two weeks before—”

“Blah, blah, blah . . .” She shoved him in the arm. “You’ll thank me when you see what I’ve got for you.”

“Ow! Stitches, bitch.” He pointed at his arm. She pretended to make a sad face at him.

“Sorry.” Yet another fake pout.

“Doubt it. You don’t know the meaning of the word—exactly why you’re in charge. No sap rule to shove my ass back in time.”

“Look, I really am sorry I had to drag you in here though.” She kept walking.

“Really fucking doubt it, and don’t push a handicapped person. It’s rude.” He rubbed his arm.

She smirked. Her light blue eyes had that familiar look that said, “I can see right through you—so shut up.”

He was barely able to walk straight as he kept pace down the gleaming silver hallway.

It was too damn shiny in here.

Almost as bad as the sun outside.

He squinted.

“Anyway, I know you’re glad to be pressed back into assignment. I can tell you were already getting bored.” She walked in her heels as if she was on wheels—gliding along.

He glared at her. “It’s called getting old. I’m forty-two, if you recall. I can’t go off running around the world anymore. I’m putting in my papers today. Re-tire-ment, Kara. That’s what old men like me do when this job gets to be too much.” He walked a little faster to see if she would maybe trip and fall in those stilettos.

She never had before, but this might be the day.

“See? You’re in a rush to get going. You ask what the hurry is, yet you’re the one practically sprinting down the hallway to get to the briefing room.” She grinned.

Where was his damn coffee already?

“Re-tire-ment,” he repeated, enunciating each word with a stiff jaw.

“
Please
—you’re not
tired
, or
re
, or
ment
. Maybe a little mentally tired, but that’s all—nothing a good cup of coffee won’t fix.” She pulled open her bag and handed him a steaming cup, covered tightly with a lid so it wouldn’t spill.

“What kind of a sick bitch hides coffee from a cranky old bastard when she knows it’s the answer to world peace?” He snagged it, flipped the top off and took a big gulp. “You really need to find a real reason to be this big of a bitch. The rebel without a cause thing is getting old. Kind of like me.”

She made some smart-ass retort, but he was too busy guzzling coffee to care or notice.

The door to the briefing room was propped open, so he wandered inside.

His sluggish brain instantly alerted to his surroundings.

Something was off.

“Why are we heading this way instead of to the conference room?” And why hadn’t he been alerted right away when she’d said briefing room?

“You’re going straight to debriefing,” she said.

“Like hell I am.” He stopped moving and turned to her. “I never said I’ve accepted this assignment—I don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Stop messing around. We don’t have time for this—they’re screaming for you to get minimal training on this one, that’s how bad they’re struggling.” She yanked at his sleeve.

“Tell me right now what’s going on.” He set one hand on his hip and continued to drink his coffee. At least he’d get a good drink out of this mess if nothing else.

“I can’t tell you out here. You know the rules. Come with me to debriefing—there’s someone I need you to meet.” She smiled.

Dammit—even her teeth were too shiny and hurting his eyes.

He was going to need some sunglasses along with another coffee if he was to get through this without taping her mouth shut.

She moved with an even more determined pace. He followed her into the room and grabbed the first piece of furniture he found with legs on it.

Schwwiiiiipz.

He dragged the metal chair across the polished floor, making the most noise possible.

“Sit with us,” Kara said, beckoning him over.

“I need to rest my head against the wall if it’s all the same to you,” Guy replied.

“Fine, but you’ll need to see this paperwork and the map before you leave,” she said.

She picked up the remote, the lights were lowered and he set his aching head up against the cool tin-foil-looking wall.

At least it was chilly to the touch.

“This is what we need,” she began, using her laser pointer to run it across the projection on the wall. “As you know, we sent John a while back, and, well . . . It didn’t go so hot.”

He rolled his eyes. “He didn’t get the delivery in?”

“He failed miserably. They were about to hang him for treason for even getting near the subject, so we had to yank him back. They’d already racked him, and right now he’s in severe therapy. They spread the joints in his ankles, knees, shoulder, wrists—and it’s ugly. Bruises everywhere. He can’t even walk.” She cleared her throat and switched to the next picture. “This is where you’re headed. Nick will meet you outside this exit.” She pointed to the door where he was to rendezvous.

“Nick—
Nick
who?” he growled and leaned forward in his chair, breaking contact with the wall. He set his now empty coffee cup on the ground and hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. “We’ve all heard of this Nick—but no one’s ever met him. Why is that, Kara? Hmm? Does he even really exist? Is that name code for something?” He stood up and stalked toward her, his eyes narrowed. “I’ve worked for this agency for twenty years. You are
not
fucking with me—do you hear me?”

She blinked, and her mouth opened as if she was about to argue.

He held up his hand. “Don’t even try to explain this one. I’m sick of the lies.” He paced now. “I’ve met every goddamned agent here, except this shithead Nick. And you have no real explanation—or at least not one I’m gonna swallow.”

She put her hands on her hips and gave him a condescending look.

“If he’s so great, send him instead of me since he’s already there.” He exhaled and bumped his hip into the debriefing table.

“Finished? You wanna quit pissing in the air for a moment so I can give you classified information no one else has besides the boss and me?” She shoved a paper across the gleaming table at him.

He leaned over it and set his palms on either side.

“What the ever-loving fuck is this?” he whispered, wide-eyed. “This can’t be right.”

“It is.” She nodded.

“Shut up. It can’t be real.” He blinked and hunched over to get closer.

“It is—your eyes aren’t failing you.” She chuckled.

His finger moved along the outline of what was very clearly the biggest fucker he’d ever heard about.

“You want me to go against
him
?” His right eye twitched, and his jaw clenched once more. No one survived this douche.

“Quite the opposite. We want you to become one of his trusted advisors, and Nick’s going to help with that. He’ll be your confidant, and your in. That’s where John failed. He disliked being told what to do, so he went against Nick’s advice. I’m telling you”—she pointed out a man in the background of the drawing—“that man knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s Nick?”

“Yep.” She popped her P.

He gave her a look that said no more of that shit until he drank two more cups of coffee—black.

“Who drew this?” He sat down and scooted the chair closer to the papers she’d strewn out along the surface.

“Holbein.”

“Him? I’ve gotta deal with Holbein once more?”

“No. He won’t be around. Henry won’t use him until much later.”

“Good. I hate that bastard. He got on my nerves last time.”

“I know, and I’ve had Nick made aware of that fact, so he’ll make sure it’s not a problem,” she said, setting her hand on the edge of the table, almost as if she was expecting him to swipe the papers onto the floor.

“All right—what’s the plan? I’m in . . .” His eyes roamed over the drawings, descriptions of
her
—the one he’d be after.

Kara turned toward him, angling her entire body in an authoritative way. “You realize what we’re asking for is damn near impossible with the way you choose to do insertion.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

She tipped her chair back for a moment and clucked a laugh. “You never change, Moore. I knew you’d be hooked as soon as I told you how dangerous and difficult this was going to be.”

“I’ll get her into bed—and I’ll have her pregnant before he even weds her,” he said, smiling and his stomach tingling. “It’s not impossible—the way I do it—only more challenging.”

“More fun, too, according to you at our staff meetings,” she reminded him.

“Hey, I still beat the other agents’ time records. Two months on assignment forty-eight, remember?”

She slid the next paper over to him. “Yes, yes, we know. We all celebrated and erected a banner of your cock to put up in your office. Didn’t you see it?”

He coughed a laugh. “No. I gotta see that, but only after I’m done hearing what the time frame is on this one.” He poked his finger down onto Henry’s portrait.

“Six months. That’s all you’ve got. She has to marry the king, she has to love him, and you have to remain in his good graces. And . . .” she dropped her shoulders and gave him a stern look “. . . she can love you, in addition to the king, but you can’t love her back.”

“Rule number one, Kara—every agent knows that, and no one better than me.” He grabbed two more papers and perused the notes written in some fancy-looking script.

“Well, John knew that, too, and he didn’t even bed her like you plan to, so you take bigger risks.” She stood up and turned the lights back up.

He winced at the brightness.

“Is that why he was racked and tortured?” he asked, looking up at her.

“Yes. Treason and considered an obstacle the king could not tolerate. Wyatt’s next,” she answered. She moved away from the table and headed toward the door. “You’re set for fencing refresher tomorrow, horseback and jousting Tuesday, and then politics and music on Thursday and Friday.”

He waved at her and grinned. “I’ve got it. I just got back from two hundred years before Anne’s time four months ago—I think I can handle it, and I’ve been in the Tudor time period before.” He slipped into his classic British accent.