Would-Be Christmas Wedding. Debra & Regan Webb & Black

      He powered through the strength routine, Isely’s ticking clock in the back of his mind as he hit the treadmill.

      Specialist Blue Callahan, well, Drake now that she was married, stepped onto the machine next to him. Like the others, she’d been handpicked for her post within Mission Recovery and she’d met the man who’d become her husband on an assignment. She had, in fact, been backed up on that mission by none other than the one and only Lucas Camp.

      There was no love lost between Holt and Lucas. The older man had a method and when Holt replaced him here at Mission Recovery, he’d developed his own methods. Holt had reason to believe that despite his retirement, Lucas had been poking around in Holt’s professional life. Probably his personal life, too. It was never a good thing to have a man like Camp second-guessing decisions.

      Lucas Camp was a master in the business of spying. But he was out to pasture now and he needed to get right with his place in the world of spooks.

      Keeping his face in neutral, Holt’s mind spun through the potential pitfalls and traps Blue’s appearance might present to his timeline.

      “Deputy Director,” she said, acknowledging him with an easy smile. “Working hard?”

      “Always.” He increased the programmed interval workout to the next level. “Big plans for the holidays?” It seemed the question on everyone’s lips this month.

      “Not particularly. A party or two, then Noah and I are headed back to the island for a quiet celebration. You have plans?”

      “About the same as last year.” That was one detail the team knew for certain about him—he had no family and no inclination to create one.

      The glance she slid him held a bit of concern. “If you’re ever in the mood for a warm, quiet beach, you’re welcome to stay in our guesthouse.”

      He nodded, unable to come up with a verbal response. Not because of the effort to maintain his pace on the treadmill but because she’d shocked him. No one on the team—other than Thomas Casey—had ever aimed a social invitation in his direction.

      Blue looked for all the world like she meant it, but he knew her impeccable field skills and had to consider this approach might be a trap. “I’ll let you know,” he replied.

      He got through the rest of his cardio without incident and headed toward the locker room to clean up. Half an hour later, as he walked upstairs in the direction of the solitude of his office, he had to forcibly turn his thoughts away from the likelihood that this might be his last hour in this building.

      As Holt entered the suite of offices that included his, Specialist Jason Grant was waiting for him, kicked back with a magazine in one of Nadine’s reception chairs. So much for solitude.

      “Grant.”

      “Sir,” he said, setting aside the magazine and getting to his feet. “Do you have a minute?”

      Holt looked him up and down, recognized the relaxed demeanor of a man fresh from vacation—this time on a honeymoon. Grant was slated to replace him as deputy director when Holt advanced to the director’s post. Assuming of course Holt didn’t die or wind up in prison in the next week or so. “Marriage suits you.”

      “Thanks.” Jason rocked back on his heels, pushed his hands into his pockets.

      “Come on in.” Holt left the door open as he entered his office, counting on Jason’s choice to close it or leave it open to give him a clue about what might be on the younger man’s mind.

      The door closed with a soft click.

      Holt took his seat, relieved there wasn’t a weapon in his back or a bullet in his brain just yet. He needed just enough lead time to get through the next forty-eight hours.

      Then he’d happily take whatever discipline Mission Recovery wanted to mete out.

      He unbuttoned his suit coat and settled into his chair. Jason mirrored his movements, taking the chair across the wide desk.

      “What can I do for you, Grant?”

      “Just a quick follow up on the Las Vegas operation.”

      Anticipation pricked Holt. “That case is closed.”

      “I realize I failed you—”

      “Relax.” Holt tapped a pencil against the arm of his chair. “My evaluation doesn’t read that way. As far as Mission Recovery is concerned, you did a fine job out there.”

      “But—”

      “A piece of advice?”

      Jason nodded.

      “Let it go. There’s nothing to clarify, nothing to be concerned about beyond the holidays and your next mission.”

      “Which is?”

      Holt forced his lips into a smile. “To enjoy the holidays with your new wife.”

      But Jason’s eyebrows were drawn together. “Permission to speak freely?”

      Holt dipped his chin. “Of course.” One day, if he didn’t get caught in his own trap, they would need to be completely candid with one another as director and deputy director.

      “I don’t think I believe you.”

      Holt didn’t move a muscle as more of that anticipation leeched into his veins.

      “I’ve gone over it every way possible, sir,” he added with more sarcasm than respect. “That whole business in Vegas felt like a setup.”

      “You have good instincts,” Holt admitted. “And I agree with your assessment. If you’re implying I had anything to do with it, I’d ask you to give that a great deal more thought before you say something you’ll regret.”

      Jason’s gaze narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. Kudos to the young man. He was going to make a top-notch deputy director.

      “I have nothing but respect for you and your talents.” Might as well add a compliment to the ugly truth, Holt thought. He hesitated, could practically hear the figurative ice cracking under his feet as he prepared to share details better kept under wraps. “Ours is a world of secrets, as you know. We have a mole in Mission Recovery. You can only imagine the distress and effort we’ve put into making a solid identification, but the director and I are working to resolve the problem.”

      “How can I help?”

      “You know Director Casey has a history with Isely. See what your Interpol connections can give us on his operations over there.”

      “Anything in particular?”

      Holt gave in and sighed. Another lie was hardly going to matter at this point. “I want to pin down the biologist who manufactured this virus Isely has been trying to unload.”

      “You think Isely means to manufacture more?”

      “It would be one hell of a residual income. Just see what you can turn up.” Holt could only hope the diversion would keep Jason distracted until this God-forsaken mission was over.

      When Jason left, Holt addressed the blinking icon that indicated he had another message on his cell. Blocked number.

      They know. I have adjusted the timeline accordingly.

      No! Holt’s temper nearly boiled over. If Isely used someone else to kidnap Cecelia Manning, Holt would be forced to expose himself to one side or the other before he had the evidence in hand to clear his name and maintain Mission Recovery’s anonymity.

      It was impossible. No one here could possibly know. Not yet. Of course Director Casey would have suspicions. He was supposed to have suspicions. Holt had been feeding Isely information very few people could access. But he’d put the breadcrumbs in the system, left enough room for doubt so he could finish the task the right way without jeopardizing too much or laying