Page 10 of End Game

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Cameron’s blood pressure surged as he closed in on his quarry.

One taunting eyebrow from the lobbyist. That’s all it had taken to knock tonight’s plan off its rails.

He’d intended to mingle, to slowly make his way to her side. Split her off from the pack. Tease out a believable denial or a night-altering confession with a promise to mend her stupidity.

Simple. Clean. Unemotional.

Right.

He cursed himself for allowing her to get under his skin as he wove through a kaleidoscope of primped and tittering high-profile guests.

The lobbyist’s taunting expression never wavered.

The agent in him boiled at the sight of her. If not for her behind-the-scenes witchery, Eileen Tao would never have been appointed as FBI director, and he wouldn’t be pivoting every couple weeks because the director tweaked a policy or modified a procedure or made an unannounced visit to his office. And let’s not forget the damn forms.

But the man in him burned for her any time they were in a room together. He felt her presence first. She all but vibrated with intelligence, confidence, and unmatched beauty. Her habitual amusement regarding everything around her, no matter how serious, intrigued him as much as it infuriated him.

Tonight, she wore her long blond hair down, the sides clipped high at the back of her head by a sparkling barrette that probably cost more than his vehicle. She looked stunning in a strapless, shimmering powder-blue dress and silver stilettos that did amazing things to her toned calves.

Realizing the direction of his thoughts—and his sight line—he jerked his attention up and caught the slight twitch in her smile. His normal response would have been to avert his eyes, throw back a searing gulp of his drink, or deliver a scorching death stare.

He did none of these.

He was here to gather intelligence. In order to do that, he had to play nice. He had to engage her in cordial conversation. So he softened his features and locked eyes with hers.

A stocky man stepped in front of him, eclipsing the lobbyist’s faltering smile. “Special Agent Blackwell?”

Cameron hesitated, reflexively scanning the room. “Who’s asking?”

“Evan Barclay.” He thrust out his hand. “Close friend to the Krownes.”

In his mid-thirties, the man had a ruggedness about him that some women might find appealing. Coal black hair shaved tight at the sides, square jaw, thick torso, lean hips. But the absence of a neck eliminated him from any Top Ten lists.

Cameron cared less about his looks and more about how he knew him and just how close Mr. No-Neck was to one particular Krowne.

He shook his hand. “Name isn’t familiar. Have we met?”

Instead of answering, Barclay produced a card. “If you’re ever interested in doing some side gigs. Give me a call.”

He read the card. “Gradient Enterprises. Private security?”

Something sparked in the man’s eyes. “That’s right.”

“I’m not in the market, but thanks.” He pocketed the card. Babysitting high-profile, wealthy people was not how he’d ever spend his free time.

“The pay is top-notch. Would be a nice supplement to your government salary.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Arrogant prick. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He took the fifteen feet separating him from his quarry to shrug off his encounter with Mr. Ultra-Networker. Rather than take a position on Phin’s free side, he paused just behind his brother and the lobbyist.

“There you are.” Phin shifted to the left to make room for him, as he knew his little brother would. “Let me introduce you to our hostess.”

Cameron rearranged his features once again. This time conveying polite anticipation, while Phin made the introductions.

When his brother nodded toward the tall beauty next to the lobbyist, he recognized Kayla in her features a second before he heard her name. He noted the keen way the older woman assessed him as she shook his hand.

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