“No. Here. In Lauchtenland. Tomorrow.” She pressed her hands to his chest. “I just don’t want to let one more day go by without being your wife.” Her gaze went to the bed, back to him.

“Oh,” His eyes widened, but he smiled. “I’ll make it happen.”

He bent to kiss her again when a knock came at the door.

“What!” York practically roared, then turned and opened the door.

Roy stood there, his hands up. “Sorry. But we found Director Grey. And Logan needs us.”

York didn’t know whether to believe Landon Grey or not.

Grey was a good-looking guy with a politician haircut, white teeth and an affable smile. Late thirties, he looked and acted like a man you could trust.

No, York didn’t know what to think.

They were gathered in Director Grey’s suite, in the living area with the fireplace that had probably held princes warming themselves after the hunt, or perhaps a ski.

The place was opulent—leather cigar sofas, thick green brocade draperies, a picture on the wall of some royal ancestor decked out in hunting attire, a couple dogs at his feet.

Grey sat in a cigar chair, one of his bodyguards—apparently CDC directors got bodyguards these days—standing not far away, stoic, not listening to the conversation.

Right.

He’d been a marine guard once, back in the day during his diplomatic security years. The security officer knew the full story, and York intended on grabbing him later for a shakedown. Or maybe Logan would do it, by the way he sat on the sofa, his mouth pinched.

“I had always intended on coming to Lauchtenland,” Grey said. “It was in my itinerary. Right before Berlin and the international symposium on viruses.”

That jived with what Logan had told them.

“So why the early exit from the conference?”

“Blame Arlo. He was leaving early and asked me to join him. We have a long-standing history of impromptu guest lectures.”

Logan held up a hand. “We know you went to school with Arlo here at Haxton University.”

They’d actually passed the school on the way up. Reminded York of the grandeur of Oxford’s Christ Church, outside London.

Which made him think of RJ’s words still lingering in his head. “I’m ready to get married.”

RJ stood away, near the fireplace, watching him, her arms folded. He couldn’t read the look on her face.

Here. In Lauchtenland. Tomorrow.

How? In between what—saving Grey’s life and figuring out Martin’s evil plan and getting the bounty taken off his head—

What was he thinking?

From the sofa, Logan said, “You must know about the bombing in Florence yesterday.”

Grey nodded. “At the hotel…”

“In your room,” Roy said. He perched on one arm of another leather cigar chair.

The color went out of Grey’s face. “What?”

“The explosive was tracked to your room,” said Logan.