Under Fire (Love Over Duty #1)(5)

"Sixton Rapp. I didn't know you were back in town." Ivan Popov held out his hand and Six took it, politely greeting his old school friend even though he couldn't stand the guy.

"Just two weeks. How've you been, Ivan?" he asked, trying to sound like he actually cared. After all, Ivan and his grandfather were the ones paying their bill for the night.

"I'm good. Just bought a new place in La Jolla and picked up a McLaren 650S. Pharma always did pay better than fighting. Still serving our country, man?" This tool had the audacity to talk about serving America in the same breath as he gloated about his wealth. Rumors abounded about huge multipliers on the prices of the most basic drugs. The guy was gouging Americans, not helping them. Six should kick his ass just for that.



       
         
       
        

"Out two weeks. I'm actually working." Six pointed to the earpiece and mic.

Ivan laughed. "No shit. This is a fundraiser for my project. You remember my grandfather owns VNP Laboratories? This is to fund our research."

That Vasilii Popov, a billionaire who could probably find between his sofa cushions the kind of change these rich jet-set rollers were handing over, was fundraising instead of giving only reinforced Six's view that these things were a crock of shit. Rich people had no idea how privileged they were.

"Small world," Six said politely, but it was time to disengage before the thoughts pinging around inside his head came out through his mouth. "Look, I gotta get back to work."

"Yeah. Good seeing you, man," Ivan said, shaking his hand again.

Six began another circuit, walking carefully to ensure he looked everywhere for the possibility of trouble. A loud crash sounded behind him, and without a moment's hesitation, he turned, the palm of his hand wrapped discreetly around the handle of his holstered Sig Sauer P220, a gun he carried legally, in spite of San Diego's tight gun laws. He relaxed his grip when he saw two servers picking up broken china from the floor.

Why was his heart rate way up over broken plates? He didn't do jumpy. He did cool under pressure.

He began box breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for four, hold for four. His brothers would laugh if they knew he'd been spooked by silver serving trays and china. And if he told them the truth-that it was a fairly regular occurrence-they'd start some kind of well-meaning outreach program like he was a charity case.

"Next time Mac has a good idea to make money, remind me to tell him to go fuck himself," Six said into his microphone, looking for some way to release the pressure he felt. Banter between the brothers had been the one thing that had kept his naive, idealistic ass sane on his very first tour and the ones that followed.

Cabe's laughter crackled through the earpiece. "It's not all bad. See the red dress over by table eight. I'm calling dibs."

Six shook his head and turned to look over at the blonde wrapped in a bandage dress. They always looked sexy on, those dresses, but trying to help a girl out of one was like wrestling a gazelle out of the jaws of an alligator. "In that case, I'll take the white dress at the bar and the green dress over by the third exit, preferably at the same time."

"Good to see you haven't lost your appetite," Cabe said. "The presentation is up soon. Daughter of the main fundraiser is some med-geek researcher who works at the lab. Probably going to be as dull as dishwater."

Six made his way over to the podium, checking the surrounding area thoroughly. It was already beginning to feel highly unlikely that anything out of the ordinary was going to happen tonight, but if anything were going to happen, it would likely be when all the guests were definitely in the room for something like a presentation. 

"Do we know what's behind these?" he asked Cabe, taking a step toward the closed, rich blue velvet drapes behind the temporary podium.

"Yeah, I checked it out earlier." A crackle cut through his earpiece. "A small balcony."

Curious, Six took the few steps over to the curtain and wiggled the handle of the doors. Unlocked, it swung open on to a small space.

"You can do this," a soft voice whispered in the half light. "It's nothing. Go in. Get it done. Get out."

"You okay?" he asked, spotting the woman seated doubled over on a white chair. She was half-hidden by the ivy that crawled up the brick wall next to the door.

"I'm fine," the woman replied, in the most unfine tone he'd ever heard.

He took a few steps closer. All he could see was the top of her head, messy brunette waves fluttering in all directions as a breeze came in off the bay. The hem of her aqua tulle skirt danced around her calves. Toenails that matched the skirt peeked out through tall-heeled silver sandals. He crouched down in front of her. "Can I get someone to come out to you? Get you some water maybe?"