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“Oh, um.” The guard looked around, presumably for his partner who seemed to be missing in action at the moment. “I’ll need to check and be sure what the protocol is on that.”
Sensing his opportunity slipping away, Murphy gazed around at all the well-dressed couples milling about then lowered his voice. “Please, dude? I’m late already and I don’t want to get in any more trouble. I’ll owe you one. Next time you’re down by the docks, let me know and I’ll get you a free, personalized tour of a destroyer.”
“Seriously?” The guard grinned. He looked about twenty-two and was still green behind the ears whe
n it came to his duties, that much was obvious to Murph. “That’d be so cool!”
“So?” Murphy tilted his head toward the elaborately decorated ballroom beyond. “Can I head in?”
The guy glanced around then back to Murphy. “Go. But if anyone asks, it wasn’t me who okayed it.”
Murphy tipped his hat to the guard then headed inside, glad that went a lot easier than he’d expected. The Ritz was done up for Christmas in style. Huge trees festooned with glittering golden ornaments towered at least twenty feet into the air on either side of the massive stage set up for the evening’s presentations at the far end of the room. Pink and bluish lights shown down from overhead, casting the silver and iridescent tables aglow in the pastel shades of a winter wonderland. Against one wall was a dance floor and a small band playing carols. On the opposite wall was an hors d’oeurve spread and what appeared to be an open bar. Murphy headed that way first. Not to eat, but to get a good stiff drink to clear his head and steel his resolve.
Memories of Shayma kept running through his head—the look on her face when he’d walked out, the sound of his name on her lips, the faint smell of cinnamon in the air that would always remind him of her from now on. He swallowed hard and ordered a whiskey neat from the bartender then scanned the crowds for his quarry. From the pictures he’d seen online, Senator Lawrence was a portly, mid-sixties-ish man who looked downright kindly when he smiled. His hairline was receding and his shoulders stooped slightly forward when he stood. Some of the photos showed him wearing glasses, some not, which meant they weren’t a necessity for him to see. From the articles Murphy had read about him, his senate colleagues described him as sharp and smart and devoted to his causes. That sounded fine, on the surface. But Murphy had learned a long time ago to look deeper, where the darkness lurked.
It didn’t take long to spot the guy, out on the crowded dance floor swaying with a young woman who looked half his age. Lawrence’s spouse, Betty Murphy, he remembered from the Internet searches. A debutante-turned-trophy-wife. Murphy would bet a million bucks she ran around on her husband and blew through his wealth from oil investments like nobody’s business.
“Here you are, sir. And thanks for your service.” The bartender set Murphy’s whiskey down on the bar then moved on to the next customer in line.
Murphy took his drink and stood along the wall to observe the Lawrences more closely and figure out the best way to get near the man and ask him about EnKor and Aileen’s disappearance.
From the shadows, it was easy to people watch, all of them so oblivious to the dangers of the world. The ache that had lodged in his gut the day he’d realized Aileen was missing flared hotter. He’d made a vow to protect his little sis no matter what and he would find her, even if it took him forever and cost him everything to do it.
Only then would he think about his own shambles of a life again.
He took another swig of liquor, savoring the burn against the back of his throat, and thought about the SEALs again. He’d gotten another voicemail from his superiors, but hadn’t returned the call. He wasn’t going back, couldn’t go back, not until things with his sister were settled here. It wouldn’t feel right. And yeah, the guys could handle Aileen’s case themselves, but she was his sister, the only flesh and blood he had left—that he was willing to claim anyway. His mom, he’d discovered a few years back, had run off to Phoenix after leaving them behind and started a brand-new family, a brand-new life.
As if her old one hadn’t been good enough.
Murphy tossed back the rest of his drink and winced.
When it came right down to it, he supposed that as much as anything was what had pushed him all these years, made him into the driven man he was. The quest to prove that he was good enough, worthy enough, despite what his mother had done.
In truth, it was part of what pushed him now, to find Aileen.
Always the need to prove himself. Except with Shayma. Funny, but with her he’d never once felt like he wasn’t enough. With her, he always felt like the king of the world.
He sighed and leaned his shoulders back against the wall as the band switched from a peppy swing rendition of Jingle Bell Rock to the melodic tune of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. It was one of his favorites, beautiful and bittersweet all at the same time. Just like the holidays.
Shaking off his melancholy, he refocused on his future while keeping an eye on the senator and his wife swaying on the dance floor.
Honestly, Murphy still didn’t have a clue what he’d do with himself as a civilian. He had enough PTO time saved up that he could cash that in and live off the funds for probably a year, then he’d have to get a job. His SEAL-trained skills would most likely qualify him for a security position, maybe like the guard at the door or maybe with the police department, if they were hiring, but he wasn’t getting any younger and at thirty-two, he’d have to make that decision sooner rather than later.
And Shayma…
My Shayma.
With a sigh, he relaxed his tense muscles and stared down into his empty glass. Despite all his barriers and reasons why getting involved with her emotionally was such a horrible idea, he’d gone and done it anyway without even realizing how far he’d fallen until it was too late. He’d fallen hard and fast for the woman who could never be more than an impossible dream. Hell, she’d flat out told him that day at the apartment that she didn’t want more than a fling. Which in other circumstances would’ve been funny as shit, since he was usually the one saying that to his female companions. Except this time, hearing the words come from Shayma to him wasn’t funny. Not at all. It fucking hurt, truth be bold. Like carve-his-heart-out-with-a-dull-spoon level agony.
Why? Well, probably because if times were different and circumstances weren’t what they were and he wasn’t such a fucked-up mess emotionally from his past, Murphy could see himself being with Shayma, in every sense of that word—starting a home, a family, a life.
The music ended and applause rose and jarred him back to reality. Things were what they were and a fairy-tale life with the woman of his dreams wasn’t in the cards for them.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
The band started into a lively chorus of Baby, It’s Cold Outside and the senator took his wife back into his arms to whirl her around the floor. From appearances, they were the happiest couple on the planet, but the way Ms. Lawrence pulled back slightly from her husband and averted her gaze betrayed the fact that all was not rainbows and glitter in their home. He’d have to do more research on them after he was done here. Murphy turned to head back to the bar for a refill when a flash of deep ruby red caught his eye near the entrance. He looked up and locked gazes with the most exquisite pair of dark doe eyes he’d ever seen and his breath hitched. A stunning woman, tall, dark hair, with a statuesque build, stood speaking with one of the security guards. Her deep red velvet dress was cut down to there on the top and up to there on the bottom, courtesy of a well-placed slit in the side that showed out the long expanse of her exquisite legs.
