Chapter 6

Marc sat in the lobby of the Hotel Indigo impatiently tapping his fingers on the table while keeping his eye on the double bay of elevators several feet away. He agreed to meet with Derek, however according to his watch he was running fifteen minutes late.

Marc signaled the waiter for his check as he finished the last of his coffee. He glanced down at the check on the table, shifting forward to remove his wallet from his back pocket. He removed a ten-dollar bill and laid it on the table as he stood to leave when a woman waiting for the elevator captured his attention. He sat back in the chair, resting his elbows on the table. He recognized her face, but he couldn’t place her.

Is that Camille? That couldn’t be her. Could it? What would she be doing here? The woman was attractive in a simple way. She wore a basic black suit with her hair in a matronly bun. But her face…

His assessing must have caught her attention because as if sensing something, she too began to scan the room as she entered the elevator. They locked eyes. Camille?!

Marc rose to his feet and watched the doors close as her eyes flashed with recognition. At a snail’s pace, he lowered himself back into his seat. His ringing cell phone intruded into his thoughts.

“Fulton,” he answered by rote. His thoughts still contemplated what had just occurred. “Man, I’m about to leave. What happened?”

He listened as Derek apologized for keeping him waiting, stating that he held up on a conference call. He asked Marc to meet him in suite 214. Marc agreed, dismissing his crazy infatuation with a woman that apparently enjoyed juvenile games.

* * *

Camille stood outside Derek’s suite wondering if it had been Marc she’d seen in the lobby. It couldn’t be. Her weekend went from fun-filled to a tide of stress in a mere day.

Derek opened the door, ending his phone call when Camille entered the suite.

“Good morning. Would you like coffee?” he offered.

“No, thank you,” she declined.

She sat in the chair facing the desk in his makeshift office noticing files that were strewn across it. As usual, Derek stayed in a large suite, which doubled as an office, so he could meet his field agents in the area.

His suit jacket hung on the back of his chair. She could still see the steam rising off his coffee. He sat perched on the end of the desk facing her, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“We’ll get started in a minute. I’m waiting on someone.”

She wanted to ask who, but he picked up a file and began reading. She started to ask a question when she heard a knock at the door and Derek’s cell phone rang.

“Grab that for me,” he asked, turning his back to her. Camille moved towards the door. She looked through the peephole and froze. What was he doing here?

“Camille, are you going to open it or stand there?” Derrick had ended his call and was standing directly behind her.

“Hmm…yeah, sure.” Camille opened the door and stood behind it, blocking herself from view.

Marc entered and strolled toward Derek. They exchanged a very manly greeting, grasping hands and embracing each other with their free arm. She stood behind the door watching them. Marc must have sensed her presence because he turned around. She saw his eyes widen as he openly stared at her.

She avoided his questioning gaze, stepping around them to take her seat. Derek’s lips were moving, but her beating heart drowned out what she assumed was an introduction. He gestured in her direction and Marc extended his hand. She stood and placed her hand in his feeling a pulse of electricity pass between them.

Girl, get a grip. She tried to loosen his grip, but he held her hand a bit tighter. Taking a deep breath, she tried to control her racing heart. He stepped closer, and whispered, “Nice seeing you again.”

Derek, not missing a beat, asked, “Oh, you two know each other?”

“Something like that,” Marc said before she could respond. What was she, mute? Embarrassment flooded her face, and once again, she knew her face was turning red. Oh, damn.

He chuckled, which made her send her best don’t go there look, yanking her hand from his grip. This caused him to full out laugh at her discomfort.

“Did I miss something?” Derek stood over Marc’s shoulder looking between the two of them.

“No, man. What’s up? What did you need me for?” Marc sat casually in the chair Camille had just occupied, cool, and collected. He crossed his right leg over his left knee.

She would have screamed if she hadn’t already made a fool of herself. He appeared calm and unaffected, while she had become a blushing mute. Derek took his seat and she sat next to Marc. She focused on Derek, attempting to ignore him.

“Thank you for coming. I’ll have to call Jarvis and tell him thanks. We are working on a case…”

“We?” Marc’s eyes met Camille’s.

“Yes, we,” Derek continued. “We are working on an investigation of International Jewelry Distribution Company. Camille has been undercover with them for the past two years. We are almost certain that they are trafficking conflict diamonds.”

This got Marc’s attention because he released a soft whistle, leaning towards Derek.

“We thought Camille’s recent promotion would help us secure sufficient evidence to close the case, until yesterday when the founder and president of IJDC was found dead in his home,” Derek explained.

“What does all this have to do with me?” Marc asked. Good question, Camille thought.

“I need to ask for a favor. I know you have extensive experience with international terrorist groups.”

Interesting, Camille thought with a lifted brow. For the first time since coming face-to-face with him, she looked Marc’s way. His face was blank. She watched the men exchange a tense gaze.

“What am I missing here?” Camille interjected, tired of waiting.

Marc seemed to snap out of his daze. “Great question, beautiful,” Marc replied. Her body tensed. She wasn’t expecting that and neither was Derek judging by the indignant expression on his face.

“What’s going on here?” Derek asked motioning his hand between them. They both looked at Camille.

“We met Friday night at Club VIP, during the company celebration for my promotion,” she answered.

“And…” Derek rushed her along.

“We danced.”

Derek looked at Marc and then back at her. She knew he was not buying it, but she wouldn’t say anything else and Marc wasn’t helping. Men!

“What kind of help are you looking for? You know the lines of communication between the agency and the bureau are nonexistent. I doubt whether I would be able to get clearance,” Marc said shifting his attention toward Derek.

“Since when have you waited for clearance? This is me you’re talking to.” Derek said leaning back in his chair. They laughed.

Camille found this conversation interesting. So, Marc is an agent with the CIA. She took in his casual jeans, black t-shirt, and running shoes. He appeared a more relax version of Friday night, but he had an edge.

They sat communicating without words. Camille sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. She relaxed her arms along the length of the arms of the chair. She felt a crawling sensation move through her. Her eyes darted toward Marc and she saw his attention was on her bare legs. She quickly uncrossed her legs and shot him a look that made him snicker. Apparently, he did not take her seriously. He would learn not to underestimate her, but for now, she would use it to her advantage.

“I can’t make any promises, but I need to be caught up on what’s going on.”

“I understand. I’m leaving in the next couple hours. You and Camille can get together and she’ll bring you up to date.”

He can’t be serious. Camille wanted to slap the smug look off Marc’s face.

“Are you sure, Derek?” Camille didn’t want to question him, but this would leave her stuck with Marc.

“Yes, Camille. I told you where this case stands. We have to produce something and soon. Meet with Marc within the next day or so. By then we should have something on Harold’s death.”

She understood his stance but that didn’t mean she liked it.

“Marc, I appreciate your help,” Derek thanked him.

“I haven’t committed to anything, but I’ll try,” Marc stated.

“All right, you two exchange contact information.” Derek stood and handed Marc his card.

Where is he going? Camille watched Derek move towards the back room. “I need to return a few calls before I leave. Camille, we’ll talk some time tomorrow.” With that, he left them alone.

Marc turned, facing her with a smirk she would have considered sexy if she wasn’t utterly annoyed with herself…and him.

“I hope you’re a better agent than you are at remembering your phone number.”

Camille adjusted in her chair, sitting with a straight back in an effort to keep her temper in control. She would not be rendered a mumbling idiot and she would talk to Derek about his bringing Marc into this situation later.

She did not like Derek throwing orders around. They had a good working relationship, so she knew he must be experiencing a lot of pressure from the bureau, but forcing her to work with Marc, a CIA agent, was pushing it.

His assessing eyes appeared sexier in the brightness of the room. Where did that come from? Camille groaned. The corner of his mouth lifting is a slight grin.

“Problem?”

Yes, you. “You think this is funny?” Her statement came out like a question, but the look on his handsome face told it all.

“Funny. No, not really. Ironic? Yes,” Marc admitted.

His eyes brushed across her as if he had touched her. Damn. Damn. Damn. She groaned again and he responded with a loud, boisterous laugh.

She did not like being the source of his amusement, but she enjoyed the way it transformed his face. He seemed pleasant; less pensive. She snickered, more from uneasiness than humor and dropped her head, running her hands along the length of her skirt to rid them of their slight moisture. She was not herself around him and she didn’t like it, but what else could they expect in such an awkward situation?

He stood and she followed, more out of natural reaction than from a willingness to leave. She wanted to discuss the case with him now. Get it over with.

“Where are you going?” she asked when he stepped around her chair. “Derek wants us to talk about the case. I would prefer to do it now. Would you like to move to the cafe in the lobby?”

“No,” he responded retracing his steps, closing the space between them.

“No?” she took a step back, bumping into the desk.

“I can’t now,” he said as he ran his index finger across the mini freckles on the bridge of her nose.

She remained motionless inhaling his pleasant mix of aftershave and something else. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Up close, she noticed his eyes had caramel undertones and his full brows and thick eyelashes made for a seductive appeal.

“Why?” The question escaped a little softer than she intended. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Why not? We should get together as soon as possible.” That was better. She sounded more like herself.

“On that we agree, but I have to meet my mother in the next half hour. I have to leave now or I’ll be late.” He searched Derek’s desk. She wondered what he was looking for. Marc grabbed a pen and paper and shoved it toward her. “How about you write down your address since you had difficulty remembering your number?”

Camille was really beginning to dislike this man, and his smirk only added to her irritation. She snatched the paper from him and leaned toward the desk to scribbled her address and cell number on it. She turned to stand and caught him staring at her backside. She was uncomfortable again.

“What time should I expect you?” Her annoyance showed in her stance. She crossed her arms in front of her chest. She had to get this over with. She needed to catch up with Ashanta and show Derek that they did not need Marc’s help.

“Is that an invitation?” Oh, he’s laying it on thick.

“Will you cool it already?” She said in a matter of fact tone. He laughed.

“How about six? I’ll come by and take you to dinner.” He stepped closer.

“Dinner?” She couldn’t move. Her backside was resting on Derek’s desk. She nervously placed her hands behind her assuring nothing would topple over.

“Or we could talk at your house?” Again, that awful smirk.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you then.”

Camille agreed since having him in her personal space was not going to happen. She didn’t know whether her distrust was of him or herself. Her physical reaction to his nearness and his touch caused her to doubt whether being alone with Marc was a good idea.

She slipped past him and headed towards the door. She had to get away from him and pull herself together. She had let this man turn her brain into mush.

She nearly collided with Derek as she hastily made her way to the door.

“Did you two make plans to talk?” He asked with his attention focused on Camille.

“Yes.” They spoke in unison.

Derek froze. “This should be interesting,” he mumbled.

Camille rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you later, Derek. I will call you tomorrow morning or once I hear from Ashanta, whichever comes first.”

Derek stepped to the side and blocked the door. He placed his hands on her shoulders and whispered, “I want you to be extra careful. We know nothing about the details of Harold’s death. Play it safe until we get the police report.”

The concern she saw in his eyes concerned her. She nodded in agreement. Her annoyances aside, she knew he was just doing his job. She did not like it, but she understood.

They quickly embraced. She reached for the door handle and against her better judgment, glanced back at Marc. He stood with his hands casually in his pocket. To her, everything about his stance screamed trouble, but it was the look in his eyes that caused her cheeks to tingle.

She turned quickly and left the room. She heard his laughter echoing as she scurried down the hall. Damn. Damn. Damn.