Alpha Squad

Chapter Eight

Veronica sat bolt upright in the bed.

Dear Lord in heaven, she wasn’t supposed to be asleep, she was supposed to be working and—

What time was it?

Her watch read twelve twenty-four. Oh, no, she’d lost the entire morning. But she must have been exhausted. She couldn’t even remember coming back here to her own room and—

Oh, Lord! She realized she wasn’t in her own room. She was in the prince’s bedroom, in the prince’s bed. No, not the prince’s. Joe’s. Joe’s bed.

With a dizzying flash, Veronica remembered Joe pulling her into his arms and kissing her so slowly, so sensuously that every bone in her body seemed to melt. He had rid them of their clothes like a seasoned professional and…

But…she was still dressed. Right down to her hose, which were twisted and uncomfortable. She’d only dreamed about Joe Catalanotto and his seductive eyes and surprisingly gentle hands.

The kiss had been real, though; and achingly, shockingly tender. It figured. Joe would know exactly how to kiss her to make her the most vulnerable, to affect her in the strongest possible way.

She’d expected him to kiss her almost roughly—an echo of the sexual hunger she’d seen in his eyes. She could have handled that. She would have known what to say and do.

Instead, Joe had given her a kiss that was more gentle than passionate, although the passion had been there, indeed. But Veronica was still surprised by the restraint he’d shown, by the sweetness of his mouth against hers, by the slow, lingering sensuality of his lips. She could very well have kissed him that way until the end of time.

Time. Lord! She’d wasted so much time.

Veronica swung her legs out of bed.

She’d told Joe to wake her up. Obviously, he hadn’t. Instead of waking her, he’d carried her here, into his bedroom.

She found one of her shoes on the floor, and searched to no avail for the other. Perfect. One shoe off and one shoe on, having slept away most of the day, her dignity in shreds, she’d have to go out into the living room where the FInCOM agents were parked. She’d have to endure their knowing smirks.

She was a wimp. She’d fallen asleep—and stayed asleep for hours—while on the job.

And Joe…Joe hadn’t kept his promise to wake her up.

She’d been starting to…like him. She’d been attracted from the start, but this was different. She actually, genuinely liked him, despite the fact that he came from an entirely different world, despite the fact that they seemed to argue almost constantly. She even liked him despite the fact that he clearly wanted to make their relationship sexual. Despite all that, she’d thought he had been starting to like her, too.

Her disappointment flashed quickly into anger. How dare he just let her sleep the day away? The bastard…

Veronica fumed as she tucked her blouse back into the top of her skirt and straightened her jacket, thankful her suit was permanent-press and wrinkle-proof.

Her hair wasn’t quite so easy to fix, but she was determined not to emerge from the bedroom with it down and flowing around her shoulders. It was bad enough that she’d been sleeping in Joe’s bed. She didn’t want it to look as if he’d been in there with her.

Finally, she took a deep breath and, single shoe in her hand and head held high, she went into the living room.

If the FInCOM agents smirked condescendingly, Veronica refused to notice. All she knew was, Joe was not in the room. Good thing, or she might have lost even more of her dignity by throwing her shoe directly at his head.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said briskly to West and Freeman as she gathered up her briefcase. Ah, good. There was her missing shoe, on the floor in front of the sofa. She slipped them both onto her feet. “Might I ask where the lieutenant has gone?”

“He’s up in the exercise room,” one of them answered.

“Thanks so very much,” Veronica said and breezed out the door.

Joe had already run seven miles on the treadmill when Veronica walked into the hotel’s luxuriously equipped exercise room. She looked a whole lot better. She’d showered and changed her clothes. But glory hallelujah, instead of putting on another of those Margaret Thatcher suits, she was wearing a plain blue dress. It was nothing fancy, obviously designed to deemphasize her femininity, yet somehow, on Veronica, it hugged her slender figure and made her look like a million bucks. Her shoes were still on the clunky side, but oh, baby, those legs…

Joe wiped a trickle of sweat that ran down the side of his face. When had it gotten so hot in here?

But her greeting to him was anything but warm.

“I’d like to have a word with you,” Veronica said icily, without even a hello to start. “At your convenience, of course.”

“Did you have a good nap?” Joe asked.

“Will you be much longer?” she asked, staring somewhere off to his left.

That good, huh? Something had ticked her off, and Joe was willing to bet that that something was him. He’d let her sleep. Correction—he’d been unable to wake her up. It wasn’t his fault, but now he was going to pay.

“Can you give me five more minutes?” he countered. “I like to do ten miles without stopping.”

Joe wasn’t even out of breath. Veronica could see from the computerized numbers lit up on the treadmill’s controls, that he’d already run nine miles. But he didn’t sound winded.

He was sweating, though. His shorts were soaking wet. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his smooth, tanned skin was slick as his muscles worked. And, dear Lord, he had so many muscles. Beautifully sculpted, perfect muscles. He was gorgeous.

He was watching her in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that covered the walls of the exercise room. Veronica leaned against the wall near the door and tried not to look at Joe, but everywhere she turned, she saw his reflection. She found herself staring in fascination at the rippling muscles in his back and thighs and arms, and then she started thinking about their kiss. Their fabulous, heart-stoppingly romantic kiss. Despite his nonchalant attitude, that kiss had been laced with tenderness and laden with emotion. It was unlike any kiss she’d experienced ever before.

Veronica had been well aware that Joe had been holding back when he kissed her that way. She’d felt his restraint and the power of his control. She had seen the heat of desire in his eyes and known he wanted more than just a simple, gentle kiss.

Veronica couldn’t forget how he’d searched her eyes as he’d leaned toward her and…

Excellent. Here she was, standing there reliving Joe’s kiss while staring at his perfect buttocks. Veronica glanced up to find his amused dark eyes watching her watch his rear end. No doubt he could read her mind. Of course the fact that she’d been nearly drooling made it all the easier for him to know what she’d been thinking.

She might as well give in, Veronica admitted to herself. She might as well sleep with the man and get it over with. After all, he was so bloody positive that it was going to happen. And after their kiss, despite her best intentions, all Veronica could think about was “When was he going to kiss her again?” Except he hadn’t woken her up, which meant that he probably didn’t even like her, and now she was mad as hell at him. Yes, kissing him had been a royal mistake. Although at the time, when she’d said those words, she’d meant another kind of mistake entirely. She’d meant their timing had been wrong. She’d meant it had been a mistake to add a romantic distraction to all of the other distractions already driving her half mad.

Then, of course, he’d said what he’d said, and…

The fact that Joe saw their growing relationship as one based purely on sex only added to Veronica’s confusion. She knew that a man like Joe Catalanotto, a man accustomed to intrigue and high adventure, would never have any kind of long-term interest in a woman who worked her hardest to be steady and responsible and, well, quite frankly, boring. And even if that wasn’t the case, even if by some miracle Joe fell madly and permanently in love with her, how on earth would she handle his leaving on dangerous, top-secret missions? How could she simply wave goodbye, knowing she might never again see him alive?

No, thank you very much.

So maybe this pure sex thing didn’t add to her confusion. Maybe it simplified things. Maybe it took it all down to the simplest, most basic level.

Lord knew, she was wildly attracted to him. And so what if she was watching him?

Veronica met Joe’s gaze almost defiantly, her chin held high. One couldn’t have a body like that and expect people not to look. And watching Joe run was like watching a dancer. He was graceful and surefooted, his motion fluid and effortless. She wondered if he could dance. She wondered—not for the first time—what it would feel like to be held in his arms, dancing with him.

As Veronica watched, Joe focused on his running, increasing his speed, his arms and legs churning, pumping. The treadmill was starting to whine, and just when Veronica was sure Joe was going to start to slow, when she was positive he couldn’t keep up the pace a moment longer, he went even faster.

His teeth were clenched, his face a picture of concentration and stamina. He looked like something savage, something wild. An untamed man-creature from the distant past. A ferocious, barbaric warrior come to shake up the civility of Veronica’s carefully polite twentieth-century world.

“Hoo-yah!” someone called out, and Joe’s face broke into a wide smile as he looked up at three men, standing near the weight machine in the corner of the room. As quickly as his smile appeared, the barbarian was gone.

Odd, Veronica hadn’t noticed the other men before this. She’d been aware of the FInCOM agents lurking near her, but not these three men dressed in workout clothes. They seemed to know Joe. SEALs, Veronica guessed. They had to be the men Joe had asked Admiral Forrest to send.

Joe slowed at last, returning the treadmill to a walking speed as he caught his breath. He stepped off and grabbed a towel, using it to mop his face as he came toward Veronica.

“What’s up?”

Joe was steaming. There was literally visible heat rising from his smooth, powerful shoulders. He stopped about six feet away from her, clearly not wanting to offend her by standing too close.

His friends came and surrounded him, and Veronica was momentarily silenced by three additional pairs of eyes appraising her with frank male appreciation. Joe’s eyes alone were difficult enough to handle.

Joe glanced at the other men. “Get lost,” he said. “This is a private conversation.”

“Not anymore,” said one of them with a Western twang. He was almost as tall as Joe, but probably weighed forty pounds less. He held out his hand to Veronica. “I’m Cowboy, ma’am.”

She shook Cowboy’s hand, and he held on to hers far longer than necessary, until Joe gave him a dark look.

“All right, quick introductions,” Joe said. “Lieutenant McCoy, my XO—executive officer—and Chief Becker and Ensign Jones. Also known as Blue, Harvard and Cowboy. Miss Veronica St. John. For you illiterates, it’s spelled Saint and John, two words, but pronounced Sinjin. She’s Prince Tedric’s media consultant, and she’s on the scheduling team for this op.”

Lt. Blue McCoy looked to be about Joe’s age—somewhere in his early thirties. He was shorter and smaller than the other men, with the build of a long-distance runner and the blue eyes, wavy, thick blond hair and handsome face of a Hollywood star.

Harvard—Chief Becker—was a large black man with steady, intelligent brown eyes and a smoothly shaven head. Cowboy’s hair was even longer than Blue McCoy’s, and he wore it pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes were green and sparkling, and his smile boyishly winsome. He looked like Kevin Costner’s younger brother, and he knew it. He kept winking at her.

“Pleased to meet you,” Veronica said, shaking hands with both Blue and Harvard. She was afraid if she offered Cowboy her hand again, she might never get it back.

“The pleasure’s all ours, ma’am,” Cowboy said. “I love what you’ve done with the captain’s hair.”

“Captain?” Veronica looked at Joe. “I thought you were a Lieutenant.”

“It’s a term of endearment, ma’am,” Blue said. He, too, had a thick accent, but his was from the Deep South. “Cat’s in command, so sometimes he gets called Captain.”

“It’s better than some of the other things they call me,” Joe said.

Cat.

Admiral Forrest had also called Joe by that nickname. Cat. It fit. As Joe ran on the treadmill, he looked like a giant cat, so graceful and fluid. The nickname, while really just a shortened form of Catalanotto, wasn’t too far off.

“Okay, great,” Joe said. “We’ve made nice. Now you boys get lost. Finish your PT, and let the grown-ups talk.”

Lt. McCoy took the other two men by the arms and pulled them toward weight-lifting equipment. Harvard began to bench-press heavy-looking weights while Cowboy spotted him, one eye still on Joe and Veronica.

“Now let’s try this one more time,” Joe said with a smile. “What’s up? You look like you want to court-martial me.”

“Only if the punishment for mutiny is still execution,” Veronica said, smiling tightly.

Joe looped his towel around his neck. “Mutiny,” he said. “That’s a serious charge—especially considering I did my damnedest to wake you up.”

Veronica crossed her arms. “Oh, and I suppose your ‘damnedest’ included putting me in a nice soft bed, where I’d be sure to sleep away most of the day?” she said. She glanced around, at both the FInCOM agents and the other SEALs, and lowered her voice. “I might also point out that it was hardly proper for me to sleep in your bed. It surely looked bad, and it implied…certain things.”

“Whoa, Ronnie.” Joe shook his head. “That wasn’t my intention. I thought you’d be more comfortable, that’s all. I wasn’t trying to—”

“I’m an unmarried woman, Lieutenant,” Veronica interrupted. “Regardless of what you intended, it is not in my best interests to take a nap in any man’s bed.”

Joe laughed. “I think maybe you’re overreacting just a teeny little bit. This isn’t the 1890s. I don’t see how your reputation could be tarnished simply from napping in my bed. If I were in there with you, it’d be an entirely different matter. But if you want to know the truth, I’d be willing to bet no one even noticed where you were sleeping this morning, or even that you were asleep. And if they did, that’s their problem.”

“No, it’s my problem,” Veronica said sharply, her temper flaring. “Tell me, Lieutenant, are there many women in the SEALs?”

“No,” Joe said. “There’re none. We don’t allow women in the units.”

“Aha,” Veronica retorted. “In other words, you’re not familiar with sexual discrimination, because your organization is based on sexual discrimination. That’s just perfect.”

“Look, if you want to preach feminism, fine,” Joe said, his patience disintegrating, “but do me a favor—hand me a pamphlet to read on the subject and be done with it. Right now, I’m going to take a shower.”

By now they had the full, unconcealed attention of the three other SEALs and the FInCOM agents, but Veronica was long past caring. She was angry—angry that he had let her sleep, angry that he was so macho, angry that he had kissed her—and particularly angry that she had liked his kiss so damn much.

She blocked Joe’s way, stabbing at his broad chest with one finger. “Don’t you dare run away from me, Lieutenant,” she said, her voice rising with each word. “You’re operating in my world now, and I will not have you jeopardizing my career through your own stupid ignorance.”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him in the face and turned away, but not before she saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. Hurt that was rapidly replaced by anger.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Joe said through clenched teeth. “I was only trying to be nice. I thought sleeping on the couch would screw up your back, but forget it. From now on, I won’t bother, okay? From now on, we’ll go by the book.”

He pushed past her and went into the locker room. The FInCOM agents and the three other SEALs followed, leaving Veronica alone in the exercise room. Her reflection gazed back at her from all angles.

Perfect. She’d handled that just perfectly.

Veronica had come down here to find out why he’d let her sleep so long, and wound up in a fierce argument about sexual discrimination and her pristine reputation. That wasn’t the real issue at all. It had just been something to shout about, because Lord knew she couldn’t walk up to him and shout that his kiss had turned her entire world upside down and now she was totally, utterly and quite thoroughly off-balance.

Instead, she had called him names. Stupid. Ignorant. Words that had clearly cut deep, despite the fact that he was anything but stupid and far from ignorant.

What Veronica had done was take out all her anger and frustration on the man.

But if anyone was to blame here, it was herself. After all, she was the one foolish enough to have fallen asleep in the first place.

“Hey, Cat!” Cowboy called loudly as he showered in the locker room. “Tell me more about fair Veronica ‘Sinjin.’”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Joe answered evenly. He glanced up to find Blue watching him.

Damn. Blue could read his mind. Joe’s connection to Blue was so tight, there were few thoughts that appeared in Joe’s head that Blue wasn’t instantly aware of. But what would Blue make of the thoughts Joe was having right now? What would he make of the sick, nauseous feeling Joe had in the pit of his stomach?

Stupid. Ignorant.

Well, that about summed it all up, didn’t it? Joe certainly knew now exactly what Veronica St. John thought of him, didn’t he? He certainly knew why she’d thought that kiss was a mistake.

Cowboy shut off the water. Dripping, he came out of the stall and into the room. “You sure there’s nothing you can tell us about Veronica, Cat? Oh, come on, buddy, I can think of a thing or two,” he said, taking a towel from a pile of clean ones and giving himself a perfunctory swipe. “Like, are you and she doing the nightly naked two-step?”

“No,” Joe replied flatly, pulling on his pants.

“You planning on it?” Cowboy asked. He slipped into one of the plush hotel robes that were hanging on the wall.

“Back off, Jones,” Blue said warningly.

“No.” Joe answered Cowboy tersely as he yanked his T-shirt over his head and thrust his arms into the sleeves of his shirt.

“Cool,” Cowboy said. “Then you don’t mind if I give her a try—”

Joe spun and grabbed the younger man by the lapels of his robe, slamming him up against a row of metal lockers with a crash. “Stay the hell away from her,” he snapped. He let go of Cowboy, and turned to include Blue and Harvard in his glare. “All of you. Is that clear?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

The noise echoed as Cowboy stared at Harvard and Blue.

“Shoot,” he finally said. “Anybody have any idea what the hell’s going on?”

Chapter Nine

Room service arrived at the royal suite before Joe did.

“Set it out on the table, please,” Veronica instructed the waiter.

She’d ordered a full-course meal, from appetizers to dessert, complete with three different wines.

This afternoon’s lesson was food—or more precisely, eating food. There was a hundred-dollar-a-plate charity luncheon in Boston, Massachusetts, that had been left on the prince’s tour schedule. Both the location and the visibility of the event were right for a possible assassination attempt, but it was more than a hi-and-bye appearance. It would involve more than Joe’s ability to stand and wave as if he were Prince Tedric.

The hotel-suite door opened, and Joe came inside, followed by three FInCOM agents. His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his T-shirt underneath, and he met Veronica’s eyes only briefly before turning to the laden dining table. It was quite clear that he was still upset with her.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“This is practice for the Boston charity luncheon,” Veronica replied. “I hope you’re hungry.”

Joe stared at the table. It was loaded with dishes covered with plate-warmers. It was set for two, with a full array of cutlery and three different wineglasses at each setting. What, didn’t Miss High-and-Mighty think he knew how to eat with a fork? Didn’t she know he dined with admirals and four-star generals at the Officers’ Club?

Stupid. Ignorant.

Joe nodded slowly, wishing he was still pissed off, wishing he was still nursing the slow burn he’d felt upstairs in the exercise room. But he wasn’t. He was too tired to be angry now. He was too tired to feel anything but disappointment and hurt. Damn, it made him feel so vulnerable.

The room-service waiter was standing next to the table, looking down his snotty nose at Joe’s unbuttoned shirt. Gee, maybe the waiter and Veronica had had a good laugh about Joe before he’d arrived.

“This is unnecessary,” he said, turning back to look at Veronica. Man, she looked pretty in that blue dress. Her hair was tied back with some kind of ribbon, and—Forget about her, he told himself harshly. She was just some rich girl who’d made it more than clear that they lived in two different worlds, and there was no crossing the border. He was stupid and ignorant, and kissing him had been a mistake. “Believe it or not, I already know which fork is for the salad and which fork is for the dessert. It might come as a shock to you, but I also know how to use a napkin and drink from a glass.”

Veronica actually looked surprised, her blue eyes growing even wider. “Oh,” she said. “No. No, I knew that. That’s not what this is.” She let a nervous laugh escape. “You actually thought I thought I’d need to teach you how to eat?”

Joe was not amused. “Yeah.”

My God, he was serious. He was standing there, his powerful arms folded across his broad chest, staring at her with those mystifying dark eyes. Veronica remembered that flash of hurt in Joe’s eyes when they’d argued in the exercise room. What had she said? She’d called him stupid and ignorant. Oh, Lord. She still couldn’t believe those words had come out of her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I owe you an apology,” Veronica explained. “I was very angry this afternoon, and I said some things I didn’t mean. The truth is, I was frustrated and angry with myself. I was the one who fell asleep. It was all my fault, and I tried to take it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I am sorry.”

Joe looked at the waiter and then at the FInCOM agents who were sitting on the sofa, listening to every word. He crossed to the door and opened it invitingly. “You guys mind stepping outside for a sec?”

The FInCOM agents looked at each other and shrugged. Rising to their feet, they crossed to the door and filed out into the corridor. Joe turned to the waiter. “You, too, pal.” He gestured toward the open door. “Take a hike.”

He waited until the waiter was outside, then closed the door tightly and crossed back to Veronica. “You know, these guys will give you privacy if you ask for it,” he said.

She nodded. “I know,” she said. She lifted her chin slightly, steadily meeting his gaze. “It’s just…I was rude to you in public, I felt I should apologize to you in public, too.”

Joe nodded, too. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah. That sounds fair.” He looked at her, and there was something very close to admiration in his eyes. “That sounds really fair.”

Veronica felt her own eyes flood with tears. Oh, damn, she was going to cry. If she started to cry, she was going to feel once more just how gentle Joe’s hard-as-steel arms could be. And Lord, she didn’t want to be reminded of that. “I am sorry,” she said, blinking back the tears.

Oh, damn, Veronica was going to cry, Joe thought as he took a step toward her, then stopped himself. No, she was trying hard to hide it. It was better if he played along, if he pretended he didn’t notice. But, man, the sight of those blue eyes swimming in tears made his chest ache, reminding him of this morning, when he’d held her in his arms. Reminding him of that unbelievable kiss…

Veronica forced a smile and held out her hand to him. “Still friends?” she asked.

Friends, huh? Joe had never had a friend before that he wanted to pull into his arms and kiss the living daylights out of. As he gazed into her eyes, the attraction between them seemed to crackle and snap, like some living thing.

Veronica was okay. She was a decent person—the fact that she’d apologized proved that. But she came from miles on the other side of the railroad tracks. If their relationship became intimate, she’d still be slumming. And he’d be…

He’d be dreaming about her every night for the rest of his life.

Joe let go of Veronica’s hand as if he’d been stung. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where had that thought come from…?

“Are you all right?” The concern in her eyes was genuine.

Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Sorry. I guess I’m…After we do this dining thing, I’m going to take another short nap.”

“A three-minute nap this time?” Veronica asked. “Or maybe you’ll splurge, and sleep for five whole minutes…?”

Joe smiled, and she gave him an answering smile. Their gazes met and held. And held and held and held.

With another woman, Joe would have closed the gap between them. With another woman, Joe would have taken two short steps and brought them face to face. He would have brushed those stray flame-colored curls from the side of her beautiful face, then lifted her chin and lowered his mouth to meet hers.

He had tasted her lips before. He knew how amazing kissing Veronica could be.

But she wasn’t another woman. She was Veronica St. John. And she’d already made it clear that sex wasn’t on their agenda. Hell, if a kiss was a mistake, then making love would be an error of unbelievable magnitude. And the truth was, Joe didn’t want to face that kind of rejection.

So Joe didn’t move. He just gazed at her.

“Well,” she said, slightly breathlessly, “perhaps we should get to work.”

But she didn’t cross toward the dining table, she just gazed up at him, as if she, too, were caught in some kind of force field and unable to move.

Veronica was beautiful. And rich. And smart. But more than just book smart. She was people smart, too. Joe had seen her manipulate a tableful of high-ranking officials. She couldn’t have done that on an Ivy League diploma alone.

He didn’t know the first thing about her, Joe realized. He didn’t know where she came from, or how she’d gotten here, to Washington, D.C. He didn’t know how she’d come to work for the crown prince of Ustanzia. He didn’t know why she’d remained, even after the assassination attempt, when most civilians would have headed for the hills and safety.

“What’s your angle?” Joe asked.

Veronica blinked. “Excuse me?”

He reworded the question. “Why are you here? I mean, I’m here to help catch Diosdado, but what are you getting out of this?”

She looked out the window at the afternoon view of the capital city. When she glanced back at Joe, her smile was rueful. “Beats me,” she said. “I’m not getting paid nearly half enough, although it could be argued that working for royalty is a solid career boost. Of course, it all depends on whether we can successfully pass you off as Prince Tedric.”

She sank down onto the couch and looked up at him, elbow on her knee, chin in her hand. “We have less than six hours before the committee makes a decision.” She shook her head and laughed humorlessly. “Instead of becoming more like Tedric, you seem more different from him than when we started. I look at you, Joe, and you don’t even look like the prince anymore.”

Joe smiled as he sat next to her on the couch. “Lucky for us, most people won’t look beneath the surface. They’ll expect to see Ted, so…they’ll see Ted.”

“I need this thing to work,” Veronica said, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “If this doesn’t work…”

“Why?” Joe asked. “Mortgage payment coming due on the castle?”

Veronica turned and looked at him. “Very funny.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t really want to hear this.”

Joe was watching her, studying her face. His dark eyes were fathomless, and as mysterious as the deepest ocean. “Yes, I do.”

“Tedric’s sister has been my best friend since boarding school,” Veronica said. “Even though Tedric is unconcerned with Ustanzia’s financial state, Wila has been working hard to make her country more solvent. It matters to her—so it matters to me.” She smiled. “When oil was discovered, Wila actually did cartwheels right across the Capital lawn. I thought poor Jules was going to have a heart attack. But then she found out how much it would cost to drill. She’s counting on getting U.S. aid.”

Jules.

Be a dear, Jules, and ring the office. Veronica had murmured those words in her sleep, and since then, Joe had been wondering, not without a sliver of jealousy, exactly who this Jules was.

“Who’s Jules?” Joe asked.

“Jules,” Veronica repeated. “My brother. He conveniently married my best friend. It’s quite cozy, really, and very sweet. They’re expecting a baby any moment.”

Her brother. Jules was her brother. Why did that make Joe feel so damned good? He and Veronica were going to be friends, nothing more, so why should he care whether Jules was her brother or her lover or her pet monkey?

But he did care, damn it.

Joe leaned forward. “So that’s why Wila didn’t come on this tour instead of Brain-dead Ted? Because she’s pregnant?”