Page 59 of Red Line

What she read about Elena at this moment was that she was dancing with a stranger while waiting to connect with someone else.

And that stranger wasveryinto the nuances of Elena.

They looked lovely together as a couple. They had parallel good looks that seemed to come from the same social upbringing. But Red would swear they were strangers.

A head taller than most in the room, this man was basketball-player-tall if he were in America. Six foot four? Five? Six maybe?

Elena was supposed to be Red’s height of five foot seven, and in her heels, she came up to his chin.

His beard was shaped, and his hair was styled with product to keep the length looking romantically Prince Charming-esque. But he was too comfortable in this setting, too relaxed and graceful in his dance steps to be anyone but an elite, someone of noble birth, probably old European money.

Not security. Not a foreign intelligence officer—even Grey, who was fine in these settings when not fumbling with his bowtie, didn’t have the effortless hyper-masculine grace this guy exuded.

It put Red oddly in mind of knights in shining armor riding against the dragon in service of his lady.

The really odd thing about this man was that when Red looked at him, something short-circuited in her body.

Yes, really just the strangest thing. She was utterly unprepared for this visceral reaction, having never experienced it before. She’d like to assign it to her professional grief or her recovery from either bomb blast or salmonella typhoid, but she knew that categorization was cowardice on her part. This was something else.

Handsome?

Yes, handsome. Handsome-enough. Not handsome in a way that was over the top.

He was handsome in that his tails were tailored to his body, draping beautifully over his broad shoulders, powerful arms, and long muscular legs.

Something …Somethingabout him was making her go haywire, and Red was growing pissed at the distraction.

Crazily enough, she was jealous of Elena right now. Red wanted to be the one in his arms gliding over the polished floor.

Shake it off,she mentally scolded herself.

Focus in.

Red still hadn’t found an opportunity to get any spyware in place. She wasn’t even sure that Elena had a phone with her tonight. Elena had to get off the dance floor and move somewhere where they could bump into each other. A little sleight of hand, a few bashful apologies, and it would be a done deal.

Letting her gaze take mini sips of the environment, Red looked for where Grey had gotten himself off to. Ah, there he was, waltzing with an older woman very near Elena. Nicely done.

Steady Grey, affable Grey, deadly as hell, and dependable Grey; he was bedrock. And she needed something solid to counter the crazy effects that Elena’s dance partner was having on Red’s system.

The questions looped like the twirls of the dancers. Why did Red think it washerplace to be in that man’s arms, to haveherhead resting on his chest. In fact, Red felt that she had been in that place before and that this man wasn’t a stranger.

There was a component of life or death, an element of gentle care.

But Red was good with faces. Hadn’t she recognized the man from Moussa’s office as he approached?

So weird.

As a matter of fact, Red had clocked this guy from the moment she had entered the ballroom. She and Grey moved through the doors and handed their invitation to the man in golden livery at the top of the stairs. He accepted their invitation and called out their names to announce their presence.

“The Ambassador to the United States, Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Bland.”

No, Color Code hadn’t tried to change the names on the invitation. It might have called attention to them from the organizers. There might have been questions that no one wanted to answer.

When Red and Grey descended the red-carpeted stairs, on a couch against the far wall directly in front of them, an elderly lady sat in a lovely emerald-green dress—demurely cut and fitted. Behind her had stoodthatman, looking attentive and companionate. And Red had thought he was probably the woman’s grandson.

Their eyes caught as Red took the last step, and she would swear something sizzled between them, recognition but not. Emotion, but not. Actually, she had no definition for the exchange. He’d bent and whispered something into the woman’s ear, and the grandmotherly figure looked directly at Red and Grey as she shook her head no.

Maybe Dapper Dan knew that she and Grey were not, in fact, Mr. Ambassador and Mrs. Bland.

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