Together, her features made up a whole that was too odd to be classically beautiful and too arresting to be ignored.
‘Jared, I want you to meet Rowan Farringdon,’ Trig said. ‘The new Head of Counter-Surveillance, Section Five.’
Section Five. Jared tried to get his brain to work. Section Five was Eastern Europe, and when he’d left two years ago it had been headed up by Old Man Evans. Hard to say if she was going to be an ally Jared could use or not.
Probably not.
‘Your reputation precedes you, Mr West.’
Her voice came at him gravel-rough, with just enough honey at the edges to keep things interesting. She bent lower; she had to if she wanted to get a good look at his face.
‘You’re not as pretty as I’d been led to expect.’
‘Give me time. Bruises fade.’
She smiled at him then, careless and casual, and that smile …
That smile was a weapon.
‘Your sister suggested that you might want a lift up to the house. I have a car here.’
He’d noticed it. Black. Sleek. Probably armour-plated.
‘Why all the security for a wedding?’ He’d noticed them—of course he had. Fully a quarter of the guests here tonight were Special Forces and plenty of them were packing. As was the woman standing in front of him.
‘You know the answer to that one, cowboy.’ She smiled again, more gently this time. ‘We’re here for you.’
‘You’re not my section head.’
‘And for that I am truly grateful. You’ve made quite a mess. Bravo. But the fact remains that we’re here to take you to Canberra and make sure nothing untoward happens to you along the way.’
‘Give me the weekend and I’ll go willingly.’
‘Mr West …’ It was a murmur shot through with indulgence. ‘We’re giving you tonight, and for that you should be grateful. You were due back two years ago.’
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Jared shot her a lazy grin, just to see if it would annoy her. ‘You’re young for a director.’
‘I’m forty years old and cunning as an outhouse rat.’
She was ten years older than him.
‘Like I said …’
Her laugh came low and unfettered and slid straight into the number one spot in the list of things he needed to make this woman do again.
‘Don’t underestimate me, Mr West. And I won’t underestimate you.’
‘Call me Jared,’ he murmured, and then he caught Trig’s sudden alertness and switched his attention to his oldest friend—who was now his brand-new brother-in-law.
‘Jared …’
Trig looked faintly amused—or was it resigned? Maybe Trig had ESP, or maybe he’d simply known Jared so long that he could read every twitch, but somehow Trig had sensed his interest in this section head with the funny face and the whisky voice and the smile that was a weapon.
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘Really bad idea.’
‘I’ve had worse.’ Jared turned his attention back to the director and smiled.
Rowan Farringdon wasn’t slow on the uptake. ‘Listen to your friend, Mr West. I’d chew you up and spit you out before breakfast.’
‘I wouldn’t complain.’
‘Oh, but you would.’
Did the woman’s lips never stop tilting towards a smile?
‘If I get in that car with you am I going to end up at the farmhouse or in debrief?’
‘At the farmhouse for tonight. I give you my word. You don’t have to be in debrief until ten past nine tomorrow morning.’
‘Any idea what they plan to do with me after that?’
Her expression grew guarded and in that moment he got a glimpse of the razor-sharp politicking that could make a woman section head at forty.
‘I dare say that’ll depend on the way you play your cards from here on in. You can play? Right?’
He was handsomer than she’d expected, thought Rowan—and she’d expected a lot. His body was big, and brutally honed for fighting, and the close-cropped black hair on his head only added to his formidable air. In contrast, his face could have graced billboards or movie screens, and his mouth had a ripeness to it that would leave lovers dreaming for just one more taste. Great jawline and cheekbones—and eyes that had seemed soft and liquid-bright whenever he looked at his sister, but were sharp and assessing now.
This was the man who’d singlehandedly destroyed a hundred-billion-dollar illegal arms empire. Singlehandedly exposed a line of rot within the anti-terrorism unit he’d worked for that had stretched all the way to a sub-director’s chair. The fallout had been spectacular, and there was fierce debate as to whether there was still more to come—whether he’d withheld information … saved the best until last.
She would have.
‘Mr West, let me drive you up to the house and have a doctor take a look at you. My men are taking bets on how many ribs you’ve broken and whether or not you’ve lost your hearing. Odds are three to one at the moment that you’re simply a very good lip-reader.’
‘They just want to look at my lips.’ Jared West let his lips curve into that lazy smile again. ‘I get that a lot.’
‘I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you use it to your best advantage.’ She let her gaze linger on the lips in question, because they really were that good, but after a slow count to three she stopped and snapped her gaze back to his eyes. Control. She had it and she fully intended to keep it. ‘The fact remains that we’d like someone to take a look at you.’
‘Is that an order?’
‘Do you take them?’
He smiled again. ‘From you—I might.’
‘You could use a Taser on him?’ Trig suggested. ‘That might work.’
‘I could, but he looks rough enough already. If I killed him there’d be paperwork.’
‘Director, would you mind if I had a word with the groom in private?’ asked West.
He tried to make the words sound like a request—he did give her that. But he expected her to grant his request. That much was very clear.
Rowan wasn’t going anywhere until she’d figured out his health status.
‘Try over by the river,’ she suggested. ‘It’s private there.’
‘It’s private here.’
‘Mr West.’ Gloves off, then, and to hell with protecting his ego. ‘How about you stand up and prove to my people that you can still walk?’
His chin came out. His gaze was all fierce challenge—no weakness in it at all.
‘I can walk.’
‘I’d like to see that.’
But he didn’t get up.