Here is the next chapter in The Spy at the Embassy Special Edition.
Enjoy!
Chapter 3
His erstwhile partners had explained it twice, but Clay Dawson still wasn’t entire sure what he was doing here at the Denquay Embassy tonight. He took a sip of chilled water from a fancy wine glass, gaze constantly assessing the ballroom, and let the buzz of conversation and the lovely strains of music wash over him.
In the grand scheme of things, attending the Denquayan Ambassador’s wife’s birthday party didn’t seem very important. It was a birthday party, for crying out loud. Surely Blackthorn Security had higher priorities to attend to.
His partners, Naomi Jones and Rob Skelton, begged to differ. A birthday party on this level was exactly the sort of thing they needed to attend. As far as either of them was concerned, running a security firm required networking and getting fat contracts from people who knew people.
And here Clay had always thought that word of mouth advertising about them being reliable and good at what they did would be enough.
He kept that thought to himself, however. His opinions weren’t very popular, lately. Going into business with his old buddy from the war in Afghanistan and a woman who’d worked in Naval Intelligence had seemed like a good idea at the time, but there were days that made him realize the three of them were lightyears apart in some of their ideologies and business practices.
Tonight was a case in point.
Hence the reason Clay still wasn’t entirely sure why he was here. Rob wanted to show him off, wanted prospective employers to see that they could hire security people who were urbane, cultured—and could kick ass when the situation warranted it. Clay wasn’t sure small talk at an international birthday party was the best way to get all that across, but what did he know?
He was just an ex-soldier who spoke five languages and could kill a man ten different ways with his bare hands alone.
Clay had to admit the venue was rather stunning, though. The ballroom in the Denquay Embassy was beautiful. He cast an appraising eye up at the domed glass ceiling that rose above them.
Not tactical at all, even if it was bulletproof glass, but definitely beautiful. Of course, they were in Washington, D.C. and not Afghanistan or Iraq, so it wasn’t like they had to worry about somebody shooting a missile into the building, but his years in the Marines had left an impact.
Clay would probably never be able to walk into a room without immediately assessing the people in it and both its tactical advantages and disadvantages again.
Most of the time, he was okay with that.
He took another sip of his water. Rob teased him about it sometimes, but Clay preferred not to drink on the job. He didn’t drink much period, anymore, but most definitely not when they were working.
Besides, he’d never much cared for champagne anyway. It had always struck him as one of those things people liked to say they enjoyed because it was fancy and expensive.
He glanced around the ballroom again. The food here would probably be good, though. Waiters hadn’t started circulating with trays of hors d’oeuvres yet, but it was only a matter of time. That was one thing Clay had gained an appreciation for while stationed overseas—he’d tried a number of new foods and had really come to enjoy most of them.
His tie felt too tight around his throat, but he resisted the urge to loosen it. He also resisted the urge to tug at his cuffs. Naomi had pointed out once that when you thought about it, wearing a tuxedo wasn’t really that different from wearing a dress uniform, but it felt a lot different in Clay’s head.
Earlier that evening, Naomi had examined him critically when he’d showed up in the lobby of the hotel they were staying at while they were in D.C. She’d bemoaned his stubborn unwillingness to shave, but otherwise declared that his tuxedo and Italian shoes passed muster. On this stage, looks were just about as important as qualifications.
Deep down, Clay admitted he was a touch scared to find out what Naomi would do to him if he ruined Blackthorn Security’s image tonight by looking sloppy. The third member of their trio looked cool and elegant herself, with her riot of dark curls and tasteful burnt orange evening gown, but Clay knew she wasn’t above picking the locks on his hotel room door and waterboarding him in his sleep. There were days he wondered if her past in the military wasn’t just a touch more extensive that what she told everybody.
A sudden hush flooded the ballroom, and Clay knew that Ambassador Ambrose and his wife had finally made their appearance. Dutifully, he turned to listen to the Ambassador’s speech along with everyone else, but while all eyes watched the couple step out on the dance floor, he watched the crowd over the rim of his water glass.
Most of the people here were career politicians—regardless of their nationality. Then there was the usual group of businesspeople, celebrities, and other hangers-on. Here and there, he spotted members of various security details.
They’d been trained to do a good job of blending in, but like recognized like. Clay picked them out easily. It was something in the way these men and women stood—an alertness in their posture and attitude that couldn’t completely be disguised.
It was the way the world worked now. Nobody on this level ever felt completely safe. Bodyguards and security details were as normal as meetings and long chats about the world’s future over late lunches and dinners.
Some of the women in attendance tonight were beautiful. Some were married, though Clay had learned in the past that that didn’t stop them from flirting outrageously at times.
His gaze caught on a young woman dressed in a deep purple gown that highlighted the olive tones of her skin. Thick, glossy dark brown hair was twisted up into a complicated knot on the top of her head, though a few tendrils framed her narrow face. She was watching the crowd too, a half-full flute of champagne in her gloved hand, her hips swaying in time to the music. What he could see of her expression was pleasant, but her eyes held an oddly thoughtful note.
It only took one glance for Clay to know that she exercised regularly. Her arms, which were bare from her shoulders to the top of her purple elbow-length gloves, were lithe and muscular. He wondered who she was.
He didn’t remember seeing her face in any of the profiles Rob and Naomi had put together of potential employers at this soiree.
As though feeling his gaze on her, the woman turned slightly and their gazes met. Dangly silver earrings glinted in the light from the chandelier as she gave him a nod.
Clay felt a little shock go through him. Oh, yes, she was definitely beautiful. But there was something more about her—something breathtaking he couldn’t even figure out how to put into words at the moment.
A little stunned, he smiled at her and nodded back.
After a second that seemed to last forever, she looked away and their connection broke. Clay felt a pang deep in his chest. He inhaled sharply and raised his free hand to scrub it through his hair, remembering at the last second that he couldn’t do that right now. What was that?
He’d never experienced anything like that before. All she’d done was look at him and—
He swallowed. Focus, Dawson. You’re on the clock tonight. Don’t get distracted by a pretty face.
His feet, however, had a mind of their own.
Before Clay quite realized what he was doing, he found his feet carrying him toward the woman. Heart thudding in a way that it hadn’t even the last time he’d taken point on a field patrol to sweep for IEDs, he reached out a hand and tapped her on the shoulder.
He introduced himself and asked her to dance before he could lose his nerve.
Clay was only mostly shocked when she accepted.
~~~
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