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Charlotte Taggart sat next to her husband and a single brow rose over her intelligent eyes. “Really? I was going to go with journalist. You’re a reporter writing a story about youngbusiness leaders and how they’re shaking up Wall Street. I can put it out there that you’ve interviewed Andrew Lawless from 4L and a man named Seth Stark. They’re both willing to back up the story if anyone asks.”

That was an excellent cover. Truly bloody excellent, and she couldn’t use it. And she couldn’t tell Charlotte why she couldn’t use it. What was she supposed to say now?

The silence lengthened, and Nina fought the urge to stand up and walk out. Her brain was blank. She was better than this. The man next to her was short-circuiting all her best instincts.

“That won’t work.” JT came to the rescue. “Everyone knows I don’t talk to reporters. I’ve got a thing about it. Right, Mike?”

Michael Malone frowned and sat back, giving his brother what could only be described as the evil eye. “You’ve got a thing about sleeping with the wrong people. You see, my brother slept with the reporter who was supposedly doing a story on the family business. After he slept with her it turned into an exposé of how our family was disintegrating and wealth had ruined us all.”

JT groaned. “I was twenty-two and I was upset because my brother had run off and joined the Navy and left me all alone. I get chatty when I have a couple of beers, and she used me. And I don’t sleep with the wrong people anymore. I sleep with the right ones, even if they seem like they’re the wrong ones.”

She could feel every inch of her skin going pink, but she fought through it. “Mr. Malone knows his people best. I think we can come up with a good cover where I go in as his companion.”

“Fiancée,” JT corrected.

Now it was Big Tag’s brow rising. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Nina prefers keeping a polite distance in these kinds of operations. If she’s your fiancée, she’ll have to stay in the same room with you. Unless we’re pretending like it’s 1820 andSandra is guarding her virginity. That might require a different wardrobe. How do you feel about turtlenecks?”

She should have told him the truth. Or at least some facsimile of it. She should have known nothing got past Big Tag. “I met with Mr. Malone earlier. We ran into each other at the hotel. Unfortunately, we also were accosted by several of the members of his leadership team who were there looking for answers about the senior Mr. Malone’s illness. We were seen together, and Mr. Malone introduced me as his fiancée.”

“I panicked.” JT had the earnest thing down. “I’m sorry I put Ms. Blunt in this position, but honestly, it’s for the best. I wouldn’t bring a new girlfriend to this retreat.”

“He’s never brought a girlfriend at all,” Michael admitted.

“I brought Dana,” JT said quietly.

Michael turned his way, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “Dana wasn’t your girlfriend. She was a friend. She was a girl.”

Oh, now she very much wanted to know who Dana was. JT’s jaw had tightened, his eyes going down.

“Well, she was the only friend I ever brought, so it would be odd for me to show up with someone I wasn’t serious about. I’ve had a couple of girlfriends over the years and I didn’t take them on the leadership family retreat because those girlfriends weren’t family,” JT replied, his voice perfectly even. “I’m not a spy, Mr. Taggart. I’m not good at this. I understand how to get oil out of the ground. That’s about it. If I screwed this up, then maybe we should think about scrapping the whole thing. I know trust is important in this business.”

“So is corporate espionage.” The last member of their group seemed to peel away from the shadows. He was lanky, with gray eyes and pitch-black hair that tumbled over his forehead in a very boy-band way.

Nina stared at him and then back to Tag. “You’ve vetted him, right? You actually talked to someone at Langley and made sure he’s not some operative’s teenager who went a bit wild?”

Big Tag gave her a genuine smile. So often the man smirked in that arrogant way of his. “I assure you, he’s the real deal. Mr. Magenta there is straight out of Langley. Gen Y is now in the house.”

JT seemed relieved to get to talk about anything but the way they’d screwed up. Though she had to admit he’d done everything he could to take the heat off her. “He’s the CIA guy? I thought he was like your kid or something.”

“My oldest kids are in first grade,” Tag said, his brows furrowing. “He’s at least a freshman.”

The young operative put his hands on his hips. “I’m twenty-three, asshole. And I’m not Mr. Magenta. I asked you to call me Mr. Black.”

“No can do. I already killed Mr. Black,” Tag shot back. “Blew his ass all over the Arabian Sea.”

Charlotte stared his way.

Tag put a hand over his wife’s. “No, baby. We share everything. Including our successes. I shared the unholy amount of money you brought into this marriage, all the children, and I share in your kills, too.” He slid a slow smile her way. “I’ll give you half the credit when I track down Levi Green and stuff his entrails so far up his ass they come out his nose.”

Charlotte appeared perfectly fine with that. “Deal, baby.” She turned back to the CIA employee. “And I think Mr. Magenta suits you. Your generation is very gender fluid. I applaud that heartily.”

The kid was staring at Tag in apparent horror. “You do know what entrails are, right? They’re kind of already attached to the ass.”

“Not after I get done with them, they’re not.” Tag started to explain his version of revenge in ridiculously over-the-top detail.

“Is this that thing where CIA agents don’t want you to know their real names, so they make one up?” JT leaned her way, his voice going low. “I’ve only met two in my time and they both called themselves Mr. Black.”

She turned slightly so she could whisper his way. “Sometimes an operative will go under a different name to keep anonymity. Mr. Black or Mrs. White or something like that. Why did you deal with the Agency?”