As his watch ticked over to 1900 hours sharp, Mark rapped smartly on the vast door of the colonnaded Georgian home of the FBI Director. The two agents who’d frisked him at the entry had barely let him through, despite Emily calling authorization ahead. That she hadn’t arrived yet was unusual for a SOAR pilot. He’d expected to see her landing at the doorstep within seconds of his own arrival. DC ground traffic could do that to the best flier.
The door swept open, and he was confronted by an elegant woman only and inch or so shorter than Emily. Not with Emily’s amazing blue eyes, but a testament to female beauty extending into mature years.
The brown eyes that targeted him reflected a chilling assessment. Mark glanced down at himself to see why. Oh. Jet-setting bum. Right. Marky. He tried
