Page 100 of Locked and Loaded

Dragan stood near the north wall with a glass of water he wasn't drinking and let his eyes move across the room. Old habit. Scan the perimeter. Identify the exits. Catalog the threats. He'd been doing it so long it was automatic.

"The glaciers are a nice touch," Mitch said beside him. "Very on brand."

"On brand for what?"

"Rich people pretending they care about the planet while flying here on private jets that burned more fuel than most people use in a year, and justifying that excess by buying climate credits."

Mitch was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, the picture of bored security. It was an act. Mitch was never bored, and he was never not watching. They'd worked together long enough that Dragan could read the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze moved in the same pattern Dragan's did. Perimeter. Exits. Threats.

"Drake’s at the bar," Mitch said. "Talking to a Swedish diplomat about carbon offsets."

"Thrilling."

"He seems to think so."

Dragan scanned the room again. His eyes caught on Lennox and stayed there.

She was standing near the center of the room with Alex, wearing an emerald green dress that would have made her red hair look stunning. Instead, it made a nice accent to the black wig. Lennox herself looked amazing, but the colored contacts and the wig didn’t do her justice. Dragan wanted to pull it all off so she looked like his spitfire.

He glanced away. He had to concede that the dress and the disguise made her look like she belonged here. Which was the point. Fontaine had insisted she come, and Armand's people didn't look out of place at hundred-thousand-euro galas. She was holding a flute and nodding at something Alex was saying, and if Dragan didn't know her, he'd have thought she was exactly what she appeared to be. A beautiful woman at a charity event. Someone's date. Someone who belonged.

He knew better. He recognized the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flicked to the exits every thirty seconds, the way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She was counting threats the same way he was. She'd been doing it since Marrakech. Since before Marrakech. Since Ibiza, probably. She hadn’t spent months running from killers without learning to scan a room.

He wanted to go to her. It took more willpower than it should have to stay where he was. She was safer with Alex. Dragan standing next to her would draw attention. Dragan standing next to her would make people ask who she was and why she needed a bodyguard.

So he watched from the wall and let her play the part and tried not to think about the last time he'd held her.

A man walked past him and winked.

Dragan's hand was halfway to his sidearm before his brain caught up. Jake Boxer. Head of Callahan's European office. Former bodyguard. Former drinking partner. Former everything. He was wearing a tuxedo like he'd been born in it and carrying a glass of champagne with the kind of casual elegance that had been learned. Dragan knew he’d rather be carrying a beer bottle.

"Easy, Maric." Jake’s low voice came through the comm in Dragan’s ear. "You shoot me in the middle of a charity gala, the paperwork's gonna be a nightmare."

"What are you doing here?" Dragan tried but failed to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Working. Same as you." Jake's eyes swept the room with the same practiced pattern Dragan had been using. Then he kept moving. "Logan and Mitch called for reinforcements, and I didn’t want to miss the action. Sitting behind a desk is boring. I need some fun. Didn't Mitch tell you?"

Mitch shrugged. "Must have slipped my mind."

"Your mind doesn't slip," Dragan pointed out.

"Maybe I wanted you to be surprised."

Dragan knew Mitch didn’t say anything because Dragan would have insisted on keeping the numbers down. No need to draw attention to anything. But at this moment he was damn glad to see his friend. The tightness in his chest eased fractionally.

Jake stopped by the bar. "Logan and Lacy are over by the piano, pretending to be interested in whatever the German industrialist is saying. They may need rescuing before too long.”

“On it,” Spencer Gordon replied.

Dragan had been surprised to see Spencer when he’d gone to escort Drake to the gala. He’d thought the billionaire would keep his better half far away from this mess. Spencer had quickly disabused him of that notion. “I’m a former US Marshal and Homeland Security agent. “A chance to take down assholes like this? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“By the way,” Spencer added, “Enzo's just arrived. Brought a friend."

"What kind of friend?" Dragan asked. He hadn’t been able to connect with Valardi before the gala. If the man had brought Kathleen, he and Dragan were going to have more than words.

"Old business associate from Milan. He's heading to the auction after the first speeches."

Dragan's attention sharpened as relief flooded him. "The auction."