Page 41 of Operation Heartbeat

He whipped Sophie upright just as Mason jumped on the bandwagon with Henner.

“Yeah, man! Dip her again.”

Con swallowed another noise of warning that made Sophie’s wide eyes even wider.

“Shut up,” he bit off in a low mutter meant for his teammates. “I’m going to break your necks when I get back.”

“Jeremy!” Sophie’s urgent whisper brought his attention back to her.

She was paler, and her eyes held a glint of fear. “He’s behind us. I saw him when you dipped me!”

He purposely whirled her in a wide arc that carried them within footsteps of the edge of the dance floor. He looked straight at the man who stood talking with two other men.

“That’s our guy,” Henner said into his ear.

“Where’s his wife? Why isn’t she with him?” Mason added.

At that moment, the businessman dressed in a smart, dark suit and tie like everyone else, broke away from the others and disappeared into the crowd.

Con released his grip on Sophie’s waist and pulled her into the crowd behind him. He kept one hand clasped tightly around hers. He meandered past people drinking and talking, his gaze fixed on the back of the businessman.

Facial recognition software had named him as Ahmet Deniz. And Con’s team was right—he had a wife who should be with him at an event as big as this.

Casually, Con guided Sophie in his wake. The huge room was set up in sections according to activity—dancing, dining, and drinking.

Deniz made a beeline to the open bar and ordered a drink. Con and Sophie passed by the champagne fountain that had interested her on the way in. He paused a foot away from the bar and snagged a flute of champagne for his bride and one for himself.

She clasped the glass by the stem and searched his eyes. “He’s right over there. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes.”

Into his ear, Henner added, “Man, did you get a look at her lips?”

Con automatically dropped his stare to Sophie’s mouth, then realized what he was doing and shook himself. “Focus,” he gritted out to his team.

Sophie caught on that he was speaking to someone else. She tilted her head, studying his glasses.

He lifted a hand and touched his ear to indicate that he had a device.

Her lips formed a small O of understanding, and she quickly covered the reaction by taking a sip of her champagne.

Then her eyes rounded again as she looked past Con. “He’s leaving.”

Under pretense of moving closer to his “wife,” Con looped his arm around her and angled them both to see Deniz sauntering around the guests to reach the front door.

“Get the car ready. We’re following him,” Con ordered his men.

Suddenly, Deniz tossed a glance over his shoulder, his focus landing right on Con.

Deniz was on to them.

He set his untouched flute down on the wood of the bar. Any clink of his glass was swallowed by the noise of the party. Sophie did the same, tossing him an indulgent smile as if she was so enamored with him that she couldn’t wait to be alone.

Outside, the car was waiting, just as he ordered. Sophie hopped into the back and Con slipped in right behind her.

“Follow that man,” he told the driver.

In unaccented English, the man said, “Got it, Con.”

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