Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | Covert Makeover

Covert Makeover
Mallory Kane
LITTLE WHITE LIES…Known as much for her undercover skills as for the black stockings even the Miami heat couldn't get her to shed, Sophie Brooks was a mystery her Weddings Your Way coworkers couldn't quite gauge. So when Sean Majors, head of security for a kidnapped heiress's family, started delving into Sophie's past for seemingly professional reasons, her suspicious nature went into overdrive…as did her libido. Telling the teal-eyed bodyguard they were working the same case was out of the question. But with danger lurking around every turn, Sophie had to convince Sean she could protect herself without revealing her cover–or losing her vulnerable heart.


You are cordially invited to…
Honor thy pledge
to the
Miami Confidential Agency
Do you hereby swear to uphold
the law to the best of your ability…
To maintain the level of integrity of this agency
by your compassion for victims, loyalty to your
brothers and sisters and courage under fire…
To hold all information and identities
in the strictest confidence…
Or die before breaking the code?

Covert Makeover
Mallory Kane


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Allison, who gave me such great characters to work with,
and to the other ladies involved in Miami Confidential.
This was fun!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mallory Kane took early retirement from her position as assistant chief of pharmacy at a large metropolitan medical center to pursue her other loves, writing and art. She has published and won awards for science fiction and fantasy as well as romance. Mallory credits her love of books to her mother, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her grandfather and her father were both steeped in the Southern tradition of oral history, and could hold an audience spellbound with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father. She loves romantic suspense with dangerous heroes and dauntless heroines. She is also fascinated by story ideas that explore the infinite capacity of the brain to adapt and develop higher skills.
Mallory lives in Mississippi with her husband and their cat. She would be delighted to hear from readers. You can write to her c/o Harlequin Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Sophie Brooks—This Miami Confidential agent knows how to defend herself against a deadly enemy, but knows nothing about love.
Sean Majors—As chief of security for prominent businessman Carlos Botero, he’s very good at his job. But to rescue his boss’s kidnapped daughter, this single dad will also have to risk his heart.
Michaela Majors—Sean’s daughter is his reason for living, and she wraps Sophie’s heart around her tiny fingers, too. But because of Michaela, Sophie knows she and Sean can never have a future.
Carlos Botero—Will the wealthy businessman’s debilitating stroke prevent him from ever seeing his daughter again?
Sonya Botero—The kidnapping of the heiress has raised more questions than answers for the agents at Miami Confidential, especially when the ransom drop goes awry.
Rachel Brennan—Unflappable Rachel runs Weddings Your Way and Miami Confidential with a kid-gloved iron fist.
Craig Johnson—Hired by Sean Majors himself, this security agent for the Botero family was driving the limo the day Sonya was kidnapped. Was he involved in the kidnapping?
Rafe Montoya—Chief of security for Weddings Your Way, the legitimate business that’s a cover for Miami Confidential, he and Sean clash from the beginning.
Jose Fuentes—The unassuming custodian at the hospital seems to be nearby each time there is an attempt on Sophie’s life. Who is he really working for?

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve

Chapter One
Sophie Brooks uncrossed her legs and tugged on her skirt hem as she watched her boss pace across the state-of-the-art kitchen of the lavish art deco home that housed Weddings Your Way. Rachel Brennan’s soft linen dress swirled around her legs each time she turned. As soon as she’d walked in the door this morning, Sophie had seen that the beautiful, black-haired head of Miami Confidential was agitated.
Rachel snapped her cell phone shut and held her iced latte against her temple. “Mornings like this, I really miss Colorado. How can it be one hundred percent humidity?” Her sharp gaze lit on Sophie’s black-stockinged knees. “I swear, Sophie, I would melt like the Wicked Witch of the West if I dressed like you.”
Sophie gave a taut little smile and recrossed her legs. “I guess you can take the girl out of New York—”
Rachel snorted and took a long swallow of her drink, then looked in turn at the other members of the team seated at the table. “That was the hospital. Sonya Botero’s limo driver has regained consciousness, but Sean Majors, Botero’s chief of security, has given the hospital staff instructions not to allow any visitors until he has a chance to question him.”
Rafe Montoya slapped the table with his palm. “Has he still got a twenty-four-hour guard on Johnson’s room? I don’t like it. Majors is holding too tight a rein over that guy. We know Craig Johnson is connected to Sonya’s kidnapping. What’s Majors trying to hide?”
Rachel pushed her hair back from her face. “I think he’s just smarting over the fact that it was his man who allowed Sonya to be kidnapped. And he has a right to protect his employee. Let’s wait. He’s been cooperative so far.”
“He hasn’t heard anything more from the kidnappers?” Julia Garcia asked.
“He didn’t say.”
“So we still don’t have a time or place for the ransom drop?”
Sophie heard the concern in Julia’s voice. She’d been friends with Sonya Botero for years. She was understandably shaken by her friend’s disappearance.
When Rachel didn’t answer immediately, Sophie spoke. “You think we may not hear anything else, don’t you?”
Everyone’s head turned toward her and she saw on their faces that she’d voiced their fears. “That maybe they don’t want anything except to torture her fiancé. If her kidnapping turns out to be part of the effort to stop Juan DeLeon from curbing the drug trade in Ladera, we’re going to have trouble doing anything from here. And their legislature goes into session within a few weeks.”
Samantha Peters sat forward. She adjusted her tortoise-shell glasses on her pert nose. “But there’s another consideration. What about Juan’s nutty ex-wife? Anyone of her family could be behind this. After all, they all have connections with the drug trade.”
Sophie shook her head. “Why would they act now? They’ve had years to take revenge on Juan.”
“But now he’s more powerful. The bills he’s sponsoring will affect their livelihood, too.”
Rachel tossed her empty cup into the trash, frowning. “I know it’s frustrating that we can’t seem to nail down enough specific information to go on. And Sophie’s right, we’re limited in what we can do from here. One thing’s for certain. We operate on the belief that Sonya is still alive. And everything we do must be aimed at bringing her back safely.” Her brows knit together in a frown.
“And we’ve heard nothing else from the police, although that’s probably a good thing,” Rafe commented.
“True. I’d rather keep Miami P.D. out of it as much as possible. In fact—” Rachel glanced at her watch “—I have a meeting with the commissioner this afternoon to address that very issue. So far we’ve been successful in keeping this out of the public eye, and of course the commissioner is being cooperative with the Confidential Agency, but the media is beginning to buzz about Juan DeLeon’s presence here and Sonya’s conspicuous absence from her usual social and charitable functions.”
Sophie checked her watch. She had an appointment with a new client. Weddings Your Way was a very successful wedding planning salon, which provided the perfect cover for Rachel Brennan’s Miami Confidential team. “I apologize, Rachel, but my client will be here in a few minutes.”
Rachel nodded. “Fine. Go ahead. We certainly don’t want to neglect any of our brides, or make them suspicious.”
Sophie heard the front door bell jingle downstairs. She stood and straightened her black silk gabardine skirt. “There’s my client. As soon as I can get her approval of my design for her wedding invitations and get her out of here, I’ll touch base with my CIA contacts, find out if there’s any chatter about Ladera, or activity off the coast.”
“Good. Thanks, everyone.”
Sophie descended the curved marble staircase, her sleek black pumps clicking. She put on a cool smile and greeted the young debutante whose biggest problem of the day was whether to use white, ivory, or pale lilac for her wedding invitations.

SEAN MAJORS ground one fist into the other palm as he watched his boss being wheeled into the large, darkly paneled study of his fortified estate. He didn’t look forward to the next few minutes. He had good news for Carlos, but he also had some very disturbing news as well.
Carlos Botero had been a big, handsome, vital man until a few weeks ago, when his only daughter Sonya had been kidnapped. Now he seemed shrunken, dried-up. A stroke suffered on the day a vague and threatening ransom note had been delivered had sucked all the vitality out of him. Carlos’s brain was still sharp, but physically, he was a mere shell of his former self and deteriorating daily.
Carlos waved a hand weakly, shooing the male nurse out of the room. The nurse sent Sean a look and Sean nodded slightly. Javier would be right outside if Sean needed him.
“Mr. Botero, I have some good news.”
Carlos turned pale. “Sonya?”
Sean winced. “No, sir, not Sonya. I’m sorry.” He should have played it differently, should have been more considerate. But two significant events had occurred within the past twenty minutes and Sean’s brain was racing with plans and concerns.
“Craig Johnson has regained consciousness.”
Carlos sank a bit deeper into his chair. “The only thing good about that news is that now he can be forced to tell the truth about his involvement with my daughter’s abduction.” Botero’s gray eyebrows lifted and his sharp eyes bored into Sean’s. “Find out what he did.”
Sean nodded and dropped his gaze. Carlos was no fool. If he knew what Sean was thinking, he’d be even more upset. Sean hadn’t yet revealed to Sonya’s father that Johnson had been overheard by a member of the Weddings Your Way staff making a telephone call, a call that was traced to a number in Ladera.
“I plan to, sir. I’ve left word with my guard not to allow any visitors until I have a chance to talk with him.” Sean took a deep breath as his gut clenched. “Mr. Botero—”
Carlos sat up. “What is it? You have something else to tell me?”
Sean pulled a plastic bag containing a plain block-printed sheet of paper from his coat pocket. He’d just picked it up from the guard station at the entrance to Carlos’s estate.
Sean had been on his way to the hospital to see Johnson when the guard called to say a taxi had delivered the envelope. Sean questioned the guard about the taxi, then called the dispatcher, but she had no record of a delivery to Botero’s estate. The guard had written down the cab number, though, so Sean had dispatched a member of his security team to track down the driver and question him.
Sean retrieved the note himself when he arrived and bagged it, even before he read it. He didn’t want even the tiniest bit of evidence contaminated.
“Is that a second note?” Carlos asked, his voice thready with excitement.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me see it.”
Sean held it out so Carlos’s unsteady fingers could grasp it.
WE HOPE YOU HAVE THE TWO MILLION. PLACE THE CASH IN A CLEAR PLASTIC BAG STACKED IN BUNDLES OF 10,000 AMERICAN DOLLARS. WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS. BUT BE WARNED. ONCE YOU HEAR FROM US, YOU WILL HAVE TWO HOURS TO COMPLY. NOTA MOMENT MORE.
“Mr. Botero, it may be time to call in the police or the government—”
“No!” Carlos’s hand jerked and the bagged note fluttered to the floor. “No police!” He groped ineffectually for Sean’s arm and only succeeded in plucking at the sleeve of his suit.
“The note. It does not mention my daughter.”
“No, sir.” That worried Sean. It sounded more like a payoff or extortion than a ransom for Sonya’s safe return. Sean was afraid the kidnapping and ransom was a ploy to keep Juan DeLeon out of Ladera and distracted about his missing fiancée until the crooked Laderan politicians could shoot down DeLeon’s legislative bills.
He was also afraid that Sonya might already be dead. But he would never tell Carlos that. It might kill the old man Sean had come to care about very much during the ten years he’d worked for him. His job was to carry out Carlos’s wishes and keep him safe.
Of course he’d been charged with keeping Sonya safe, too, and he’d failed.
“Sir, the country of Ladera is a time bomb. Sonya’s kidnapping is almost certainly related to the activities there. The appropriate authorities should be contacted.”
Carlos tugged at Sean’s sleeve. “No! I care nothing for corrupt politicians. I care only about getting my daughter back. I trust her safety only to you!” Carlos yelled. “Promise me—”
The nurse stuck his head in the door, but Sean waved him away.
“Mr. Botero, I can’t tell you how sorry I am—”
“Do not apologize. Just promise me you will leave the authorities out of this. I depend on you.”
“I’ll do whatever you want done, sir.”
Carlos’s black eyes burned into Sean’s. “I want my daughter back. Sonya is my heart, my only remaining child. I cannot bear to lose her.”
Sean patted the older man’s hand. “I give you my word as a father that I will do everything in my power to get your daughter back safe and sound.”
Carlos relaxed minutely. “Thank you. Thank you. If my old friend Esteban were still alive, he could help you. But now Javier has taken on the additional duties of bodyguard.” Carlos took a breath and got choked. He started coughing.
Sean quickly called for the nurse. It pained him to see his robust, vital boss so ill and weak.
After the nurse brought Carlos some water, then wheeled him out, saying it was time for his massage, Sean sat down behind Carlos’s massive carved desk and put his head in his hands, replaying for the tenth or the hundredth time what had happened on that day in June when Sonya Botero was abducted in front of Weddings Your Way.
As Botero’s chief of security, Sean felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He was the one who had recommended Sonya park her red Porsche and let Craig Johnson, a member of his security team, drive her in her father’s limousine.
He’d felt she needed a bodyguard, considering the growing unrest in Ladera and the increased threats against her fiancé, Juan DeLeon. He’d picked Johnson for the job because of his military background. He’d served in some political hotspots.
Now Johnson was still in the hospital from a failed attempt on his life, an innocent client of Weddings Your Way was severely injured, and until just a few minutes ago, no one had heard from the kidnappers since the first note a few days ago.
Sean pictured the original note, with the unidentifiable bloody thumbprint on it and the lock of Sonya’s hair in the envelope. The note had been frustratingly terse. Two million, will be in touch.
Shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck, Sean reread the new note. It was scarcely more informative than the first one had been.
You will have two hours to comply. Sean picked up the desk phone and called Carlos’s personal accountant, who had already begun putting together the two million dollars.
“Winstead, it’s Majors. We’ve received a second note. Is the money ready?”
“It’s available. Specifics?” The dour accountant wasted few words.
“No pickup time, yet. Once we hear, we have to be ready in two hours, so I need your assurance that the cash will be ready.”
“Denominations?”
“Ten-thousand dollar bills.”
“Right.”
“Thanks.” Sean hung up, feeling helpless. He was used to being in control of a situation. He’d always been aware of Sonya’s vulnerability, given her high-profile lifestyle and her well-known charity work. He’d always sent a bodyguard with her to large public functions, although the independent, spoiled heiress hadn’t known that.
But the events surrounding her kidnapping didn’t feel right to him. From the beginning, Rachel Brennan, the owner of Weddings Your Way, had somehow managed to keep police and FBI involvement to a minimum. Sean had butted heads with her security chief a couple of times already, as well. Rafe Montoya seemed determined to keep Sean out of the loop.
A wedding planning salon with a crack security force. A high-profile kidnapping that hadn’t been scooped by the media. And Weddings Your Way employees uncovering vital pieces of information, like the fact that Johnson had called a number in Ladera before someone had sneaked into his hospital room and nearly killed him. It was all too convenient, the way everything seemed connected to the wedding-planning salon.
It didn’t add up.
Well, today, all that was about to change. Sean was going to see Rachel Brennan and demand answers. It was time he took control of the situation.
Sean stood and tucked the bagged note into his jacket pocket. He had promised Carlos that he would bring back his daughter safely. As a father.
As he headed out into the July Miami sunshine, on his way to the hospital to see Johnson, he thought about Carlos’s words. She is my heart.
He knew exactly what his boss meant. His mouth relaxed into a smile as he thought about his three-year-old daughter, Michaela. What would he do if something happened to her? Despite the heat, he shivered and suppressed an anguished groan. He would die.
As he patted the note in his pocket, his brain fed him a vision of another note. The note his ex-wife Cindy had left him.
You and the baby are sucking the life out of me. I can’t take it anymore. Get a divorce. You can have Michaela. She thinks you’re her father anyway.
Those words had pierced his heart with the efficiency of a stiletto. More than two years later, the piercing pain had dulled to an ache, but it hadn’t lessened. He rubbed his chest as he climbed into his Mustang convertible and started it, gunning the engine loudly.
How could another man’s child wrap his heart around her tiny fingers? How could he feel so consumed with love for her if she wasn’t biologically his? He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant.
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Michaela had his eyes, his dogged determination.
His ex-wife’s note was just one final cruelty. She’d hurt him in every other way she could. From her point of view, destroying his relationship with his daughter would be the perfect final blow.
He pushed thoughts of his ex-wife and her many betrayals out of his mind as he pulled up to the gate and instructed the guard not to let anyone in unless they had prior clearance from him. Not the police. Not a delivery truck. Not anyone.
He drove the several miles to the hospital, and headed straight up to Johnson’s room. A quick discussion with the nurse in charge told him Johnson was doing fine now that he’d finally regained consciousness.
The guard he’d placed at Johnson’s door rose from his chair.
“Mr. Majors.”
Sean nodded. “Morning, Kenner. If you want to grab some coffee, go ahead. Be back in ten minutes.”
It was after eight, but the room was still dark. Some morning show was on TV, but Johnson’s eyes were closed and one hand worried the oxygen tube inserted in his nose.
Sean stared at the man he’d hired less than a year ago. How in the hell had he been so wrong about him? Fury at himself and at Johnson propelled him across to the windows where he yanked up the blinds.
“Hey!” Johnson shielded his eyes from the bright Miami sun. He coughed and groaned, then squinted. “Mr. Majors.” He sank back into the bedclothes, his face suddenly pale.
“Good to see you awake.”
Johnson’s eyes fluttered. “Somebody tried to kill me.”
“I know. What I want to know is why.”
A slight shrug told him his employee didn’t want to talk. He stepped over to the bed and grabbed Johnson’s wrist where the IV tube was inserted.
Johnson squirmed. “Ow. Mr. Majors, you gotta get me out of here.”
“I’ve put a twenty-four-hour guard on your room.”
“You don’t understand. They’ll get to me again. I know it.”
“Who got to you?” He squeezed.
Johnson was sweating, grimacing at the pain from the IV catheter pressing into his flesh. Sean didn’t care.
“I swear, I don’t know. He stabbed me in the chest with a needle while I was asleep. Whatever he shot me with nearly killed me.”
“So you didn’t see anything.”
Johnson quit straining against Sean’s grip on his wrist. “You don’t believe me. I swear,” he coughed again. “The first and last thing I felt was that needle going in.” He rubbed his chest with his free hand.
Johnson had been attacked. There was no doubt about that. With a dose of potassium. Whoever had done it knew that injecting potassium straight into the heart would kill a person immediately. But the attempt had failed.
“Why’d you do it, Johnson?”
The young man swallowed. His pale face and the tubes attached to him bore witness to his brush with death. But he was alive, and Sean needed answers.
He waited.
Johnson’s eyes fluttered closed and he took a long breath, coughing dryly. “After I started driving Sonya, I got a phone call. They gave me a number. All I was supposed to do was let them know where I drove her. I had no idea they were going to kidnap her—”
“Like hell!” Sean jerked his hand away, afraid his anger might cause him to injure the young man’s wrist.
“Look, man. I’m serious. I thought it was the media.”
“The media? That’s a lie. I’ve seen the phone records. You called a number in Ladera.”
Johnson licked dry lips as his eyes widened. “That was just the one time. Nothing was said.”
Sean leaned over the hospital bed. “Don’t lie to me again, Johnson. I’ll take the guard off, and leave you here on your own. Now what the hell made you do it?”
Johnson’s pale face drained completely of color. His eyes darted toward the door. “I got in deep on some gambling debts. When I told the collectors I was driving Sonya, suddenly I got these phone calls. I swear, Mr. Majors—”
A nurse knocked on the half-open door, then stepped into the room. “Mr. Johnson, the lab is here to take you down for your CT scan.”
Sean blew out a frustrated breath. Johnson was lying. But Sean didn’t have time to question him further. He needed to get over to Weddings Your Way and talk to Rachel Brennan about the second ransom note.
He stepped back from the bed as two hefty young men wheeled in a gurney. Behind them Sean saw his guard.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he tossed at Johnson as he rounded the gurney and headed out the door.
“Stick with him. Don’t let him out of your sight,” he muttered as he passed the guard.
The day was growing hot and bright as he headed toward Biscayne Bay, toward the sumptuous offices of Weddings Your Way.
A half hour later, Sean stepped up to the carved mahogany and beveled glass front entrance to Weddings Your Way. He glanced at the discreetly placed security camera, only one of several positioned strategically around Weddings Your Way. His brain flashed back to the scene that had greeted him the day Sonya was kidnapped. The parking area had been in chaos. There were police detectives, crime-scene personnel and paramedics crawling all over the place. All he’d been able to think about was his boss’s missing daughter and his injured security guard.
He had watched the tapes. Frustration swelled in his chest as he thought about how little evidence the police lab had been able to glean from the footage.
The tape showed Botero’s white limousine pulling up behind a late model sedan in front of Weddings Your Way. Johnson, dressed in chauffeur livery and obviously not happy about it, opened the rear door for Sonya, who, with her usual exuberant energy, bounced out smiling.
Then, a black limo had pulled up behind Botero’s and two men dressed in dark suits leaped out and grabbed Sonya. Johnson reacted immediately, but one of the men coldcocked him.
A well-built young man ran into the frame, straight toward the limo, but the black car had veered and jumped the curb, heading straight for Johnson.
Johnson rolled to one side, out of the frame of the camera as the limo barreled forward and hit a young woman. Sean now knew that the young woman was Caroline Graham and the man who’d rushed the limo was her brother, Alex.
At no time did either of the kidnappers show his face to the camera. It was as if they knew exactly where the blind spots were.
He eyed the state-of-the-art piece of equipment. It was the same brand he’d just purchased for Carlos’s estate. Cocking an eyebrow at the lens, he reached for the door handle. Weddings Your Way must be more successful than he realized.
He knew from his own wedding that they were expensive. But that kind of twenty-four-hour security cost more than his apartment rent for a year. Rachel Brennan had upgraded since the kidnapping. Too late for Sonya and Johnson, but smart.
Walking into the elegant reception area of Weddings Your Way was like walking onto the set of a famous Thirties-era movie. A young woman seated behind a delicately carved table greeted him.
“Good morning, sir. Welcome to Weddings Your Way. How may we assist you?”
“Rachel Brennan, please.”
The pretty young woman quickly surveyed him, taking in his custom-fitted summer suit and the state of his fingernails and hair.
“Sean Majors, Carlos Botero’s chief of security.” He handed her his card.
“Oh, of course Mr. Majors.” Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “Ms. Brennan is not available. Could I direct you to—” she glanced quickly at a desk calendar “—Ms. Brooks?”
Sean took in the large main salon of Weddings Your Way. Brooks. Which one was she?
To the right of the marble staircase, beyond the display of wedding gowns and veils, in a cozy alcove, a tall blonde dressed in black and white with black stockings encasing her long, shapely legs smiled at a petite redhead in bright pink sitting across from her.
As he watched, the two women stood.
Oh, yeah. The blonde with the legs was Sophie Brooks. How could he forget those legs? The sleek, sheer black stockings were an endangered species in Miami any time of year. They were extinct during the summer.
As the bride-to-be turned toward the door and the blonde sat and recrossed her legs, Sean admired the long expanse of thigh that was revealed below the short, tight skirt.
“Mr. Majors, I’ll let Ms. Brooks know—”
He waved his hand. “I see her.”
As he passed the redhead, she smiled pertly at him. He nodded without taking his eyes off Sophie Brooks.
Her straight blond hair hid her face as she wrote something in a leather notebook, then typed a few sentences into a small laptop that sat open on her desk.
Her phone buzzed as he approached. She answered it, listened for an instant, then slid her gaze up his body, giving her head a little toss as she met his eyes. “No, that’s fine. I’ll take him.”
Sean smiled.
She frowned, set the phone down and stood.
He heard the swish of ultrasheer nylon and to his surprise, his body reacted.
Damn. What the hell was wrong with him? He was working, and nothing interfered with his job. Certainly not a beautiful woman. Miami was filled with beautiful women. Besides, he had absolutely no interest in women right now, beautiful or otherwise. He had his job and his daughter. He didn’t need anything else.
But, oh, those silk-clad forever legs.
With a great deal of effort, he managed to keep his eyes on her face.
She smoothed her hands down her skirt and swallowed, her eyelids flickering. Did she sense the battle that was raging inside him?
Knock it off, Majors. His jaw tightened. He was here for one purpose. He had to let Rachel Brennan know about the second ransom note.
“Ms. Brooks?”
“I’m Sophie Brooks,” she said, holding out her hand.
He took it briefly. Her fingers were cool, which didn’t surprise him. He’d have been surprised if they’d been warm. She was the epitome of cool. Her demeanor was smooth, sophisticated, unflappable, except for that tiny movement of her throat when he’d met her gaze.
“Please sit,” she said.
He gestured. “After you.” Cursing at himself for his weakness, he stole one last glimpse of her crossing those legs.
She moved an album of wedding invitations from the small table in front of her.
“I need to speak to Rachel Brennan,” he said, eyeing the pink slipper chair, then sitting carefully on the edge of it and propping his elbows on his knees.
“Ms. Brennan isn’t here. Can I do something for you, Mr. Majors?”
“That depends. Are you familiar with the Botero kidnapping?”
Sophie Brooks’s gaze snapped to his, the clear blue of her eyes suddenly turning opaque. He could have sworn something inside her shut down.
She fiddled with the pen she held, then pulled a notepad toward her and began drawing swirling circles and loops on it.
“Yes, of course. An awful thing to have happen right outside our doors,” she commented, her eyes on the paper.
Doodling. Sean exhaled shortly. “Right. Not to mention how bad it must be for Sonya and her father and the people who were injured,” he said dryly.
For a second there, she’d reminded him of his ex-wife, self-absorbed and heartless. But he supposed he was giving the woman too much credit, expecting her to be concerned about someone she may have never even met. She was an employee of a fancy wedding planning salon. It was natural that her biggest concern would be for the reputation of the salon.
But she’d heard the censure in his voice, because her pen stilled and she compressed her lips. “Certainly. I heard your security guard regained consciousness. How is he?”
And he heard the faint hint of disapproval in hers, as if the kidnapping were Johnson’s fault and, by association, his. “They’re running tests. I’ll see him this afternoon.”
Her lashes lowered for an instant. “Yes, I understand you’ve gotten his physician to order no visitors until after you’ve talked with him.”
More disapproval.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Majors?”
Sean assessed her. She appeared to be in complete control—poised, her legs crossed, her back straight. Maybe too straight. She seemed ill at ease. “You design the invitations for Weddings Your Way, right?”
Her throat moved and she blinked.
She was thrown off by his sudden change of subject. Sean made it his business to assess the people he came in contact with. It came in handy. Those tiny reactions told him Sophie Brooks wasn’t a hundred percent unflappable.
“Yes,” she said evenly. “I help the bride choose the perfect invitation to introduce the most important event in a young woman’s life.” She paused. “Is that relevant?”
“We’ve actually met before. You designed the invitations for my wedding.”
Sophie did her best not to react. So that’s why he looked so familiar. She knew she’d seen him before. She’d caught a glimpse of him on the day of Sonya’s kidnapping, felt the sense of déjà vu, and thought perhaps his even, rugged features reminded her of a movie star. In the chaos of the tragedy, she’d forgotten about him.
But now she remembered vividly—his athletic, loose-limbed grace, his broad shoulders and lean hips subtly set off by his tailored suit, his nearly perfect features. His wedding to a blond debutante four years ago had been her first assignment for Weddings Your Way.
“Of course.” She held his gaze. No way was she going to admit she remembered him after that long. In truth, his odd teal-colored eyes had fascinated her, as had his harsh, handsome face and his confident sexuality. She also recalled how much in love he’d been. She smiled. “How is your wife?”
His eyes changed then, from soft teal blue to the dark shadows of a storm cloud. “I have no idea,” he said flatly.
Before she could stop herself, she glanced down at his left hand. No ring. Not even a tan line. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t because of the invitations.” His lips smiled wryly. His eyes didn’t.
Sophie sent him a small sad smile. “Nevertheless—”
“When will Ms. Brennan be back?”
Back to business. Sophie watched as he deliberately refocused on his reason for being here. He tensed and subtly arched his shoulders, then glanced at his watch, a shadow of worry flickering across his face.
Something had happened. Her intuition, honed by her years with the CIA, kicked in. She tensed.
“It could be quite a while. I assure you, I am authorized to act on her behalf in any matter.”
He nodded, and his hand moved toward his jacket pocket. In a calculatedly casual move, he checked it and rested it on his thigh, instead.
But Sophie noticed. She spotted the corner of a plastic bag skirting the top edge of the gray silk pocket. They’d received a note. She leaned forward. “Mr. Botero has heard from the kidnappers again, hasn’t he?”
Sean Majors glanced down at the unbuttoned top of her blouse. His gaze brushed the shadowed area between her breasts like a caress. They tightened in response, and awareness drifted across her skin like the faint touch of fingertips.
His gaze slid up to hers. After a couple of seconds, he looked beyond her. He could have been just looking out the window behind her at the luxurious pool area, but Sophie knew he wasn’t. He was making a decision—a decision whether to trust her.
He blinked and leveled his gaze on her again. “Yes.”
Sophie’s heart slammed against her chest.
A break at last. She smoothed her skirt and reminded herself that to him she was just a graphics designer at an upscale wedding-planning business. Still, she was in charge while Rachel was gone. She had an obligation to get all the information she could.
“And you’re here because Mr. Botero doesn’t want the police involved.”
“That’s right. Mr. Botero has cooperated up to a point. But he refuses to allow them inside his estate. He doesn’t want them to know he’s heard from the kidnappers. I don’t like operating without their knowledge.”
“We’re willing to cooperate in any way,” Sophie said quickly. She couldn’t tell him that Rachel, as head of the Confidential Agency, was already working closely with the police commissioner to keep law enforcement and media attention off the Botero kidnapping.
“As I’m sure you know, we’ve been waiting to hear about the date and time for the drop,” she said.
“And your security team is ready?”
“Of course.” He assessed her narrowly. She knew what he was thinking. He was Botero’s chief of security. He knew all about coordinating surveillance and protection. He also knew all about cooperation with authorities. Luckily so far, he’d barely dealt with the Confidential team directly, and then it had been mostly through Rachel. Sophie knew Rachel had revealed nothing about the true purpose of Weddings Your Way.
He dropped his gaze to her fingers. Aware that she was still doodling, as she did when she was nervous or concentrating, she smoothly covered the paper with her forearm without looking at it.
“So, Mr. Majors, what can Weddings Your Way do for you?”
“I need copies of all your surveillance tapes from the day of the kidnapping. I’d like to interview everyone Sonya spoke with that day. I want to review all the statements from all your employees.”
“The police have all that.”
He waited.
“All right. Ms. Brennan has copies of everything.” Sophie picked up the phone and dialed Samantha’s extension. “Samantha, have you got an extra set of copies of everything related to the Botero case—to Sonya’s kidnapping?”
“Everything?” Samantha’s amused voice said in her ear. “I caught a glimpse of Botero’s gorgeous security chief. Lucky you, in charge today. You surely don’t mean he’s sweet-talked you into giving him everything?”
Sophie gripped the phone more tightly and avoided the gorgeous security chief’s gaze as her face grew warm. “All the information we provided to the police,” she said evenly. She’d never quite picked up the knack the close-knit team had of kidding around, especially in the middle of a serious situation. Her background hadn’t been conducive to gentle teasing.
“Ah, okay. Give me twenty minutes. So the unflappable Sophie Brooks didn’t fall under the handsome prince’s spell.”
“No, of course not. Nothing like that.” She disconnected, feeling her cheeks turn warm. Silently and fluently, she cursed Samantha for teasing her.
She gave Sean a stiff smile. “We can have that information for you in about twenty minutes. In the meantime, if you’d like, you can talk to our receptionist about arranging to speak with the employees who were here that morning. Or would you prefer to see our chief of security, Rafe Montoya? He’s not here right now.” He’d gone with Rachel to see the commissioner. “He should be back this afternoon.”
Sean glanced at his watch again.
He didn’t have much time. Sophie couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to know about the note.
“The kidnappers gave you a deadline, didn’t they? When is the drop? What did the note say? How was it delivered?” Sophie stopped as Majors’s brows drew together in a frown and his gaze sharpened.
She backpedaled. “I mean, is Sonya safe? Did the note say anything about her?” She sat back and forced herself to calm down. Sean Majors had no idea she was a former CIA agent. Her job, and her biggest challenge, was to stay in character. As far as Sean Majors was concerned, she was an employee of Weddings Your Way. Nothing more.
Sean didn’t speak.
“Mr. Majors, I assure you that I am authorized to act in full capacity in Ms. Brennan’s absence. If you like, I could give her your cell phone number so you can verify it with her.”
His face smoothed out a bit as he shook his head. “There was no specific mention of Sonya. But they gave instructions about the money, and said they’d be in touch very soon.”
“May I see the note?” She looked at his pocket.
As he pulled out the plastic bag and laid it in front of her, she was momentarily distracted by his hands. They were large and tanned, with long, well-shaped fingers. Good hands. Competent hands.
She forced her attention on to the note, reading it quickly. “Two hours!”
“Right. Not much time. We’re going to have to be ready to move.”
She held the note up to the light, drawing a curious glance from him. “No watermark,” she commented, then gave a small false shrug. “I’m a graphic designer. Mr. Majors, may we keep this?”
“What reason could you possibly have to want the note?”
“Ms. Brennan will want to see it,” Sophie said quickly. “She feels responsible for Sonya Botero’s kidnapping. Maybe a copy?”
Majors sent her a suspicious glance. “How can I be assured it won’t end up in the hands of the police?”
“As I said, I can have Ms. Brennan speak to you personally.”
He shook his head. “One copy, without removing it from the plastic bag.”
“Of course. I’ll do it myself if you’d like to observe.”
He stood, adjusting his cuffs, and picked up the note. He was not going to let it out of his sight for an instant.
Sophie stood as well. “Follow me.” She walked quickly up the stairs, her high heels clicking on the marble. Majors walked slightly behind her and she imagined his gaze burning into her back, her behind, her legs. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Disturbing. And yet slightly arousing. Suppressing the urge to slow down and force him into step beside her, she sped up, reaching the second floor and heading straight for the copy machine.
As he watched her like a hawk, she made one photocopy. He reached around her and cleared the machine, then inspected the copy.
“Your confidence in us is underwhelming.”
He didn’t look up. “This is my boss’s only daughter. My loyalty is to him.”
“True. I apologize.”
He didn’t acknowledge her words, just handed her the photocopy and retrieved the original note, tucking it back in his inside jacket pocket. Then he stepped aside to let her precede him down the stairs.
Sophie faced him at the bottom. “Where do you think they’ll want to meet for the drop?”
“Who knows. They don’t seem to be concerned about being seen in daylight, but they’ll want an open space.”
“Do it here.”
Sean lifted his chin slightly, staring at her as if she’d just confessed.
She’d come on too strong. But she was getting the definite impression he wanted to handle this alone. And she couldn’t let that happen. Sonya Botero had been kidnapped right under the nose of Rachel Brennan’s Miami Confidential team. Rachel was absolutely determined to get Sonya back, and Sophie and the rest of the team felt the same way. It had happened on their watch. It was their responsibility.
“It’s the perfect place,” she said quickly. “Sonya was kidnapped here. That means the kidnappers know the area intimately. We can arrange the drop in the circular drive out front. Cancel all appointments for the time frame to ensure that no one is around. It’s relatively isolated, yet out in the open. It would make sense.”
Sean cocked one brow. “You seem to have all the bases covered. Have you been thinking about this a lot?”
His remark gave her pause. Actually, the thought of using Weddings Your Way for the ransom drop had just occurred to her. “I watch a lot of TV. But it does make sense, doesn’t it?”
“Assuming the kidnappers are generous enough to let us make that decision, which I doubt will happen. Isn’t this Montoya’s territory?”
“Yes, but he and Ms. Brennan are out all morning. That means it could be hours before you could talk with them about arrangements. That’s time wasted.”
“Who do you suggest to make the drop?”
Sophie took a deep breath. “Me. I work here. I’m sure the kidnappers know all the employees of Weddings Your Way. They would have cased us pretty thoroughly before they planned the kidnapping.”
“Cased you?”
“Sorry.” Sophie smoothed her skirt and looked down. “Like I said, I guess I watch too many cop shows.”
“You think?”
She frowned at his sarcastic remark and the storm clouds still darkening his eyes. She challenged him. “You think I can’t handle it.”
“I’m sure you can. All you’d have to do is walk a few steps and set down a suitcase. My question is why do you want to?”
His voice was harsh, suspicious. He obviously suspected that she had an ulterior motive. Surely he didn’t think she was in on the kidnapping?
She couldn’t tell him the truth. That as a Miami Confidential agent, she had an obligation to make sure no one else was hurt. If anything happened during the drop, her CIA training ensured that she’d be prepared. She knew how to take care of herself.
Sean crossed his arms, waiting for her answer.
Smiling slyly, she leaned forward again, making sure her shirt gaped artfully. She was rewarded when his gaze flickered downward.
“I love the danger. It’s a turn-on.”

Chapter Two
It’s a turn-on.
For an instant, her words hung between them. Neither of them moved.
Then Sean Majors’s eyes darkened and his knuckles whitened against the dark gray of his jacket.
Sophie took a deep breath, willing her face not to express the embarrassment she felt. Her ploy hadn’t worked. She never should have tried flirting. Lord knew, she was no good at it.
He uncrossed his arms and shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his jacket as he took a step backward. The set of his strong straight mouth telegraphed his disapproval of her and her suggestion.
She hated this posturing. Hated the idea that she had to resort to such tactics to keep Weddings Your Way’s true identity a secret. But she’d started it and now she had to finish. She had to ensure that Confidential was involved in the ransom drop.
“You must feel the same way.” She stepped forward, letting her gaze drift down to his chest, where a shoulder holster strap showed beneath his jacket. She ran the tip of one fingernail along the edge of the strap, then she met his gaze again and smiled.
“Why else would you be in a job where you carry a gun?”
Sean’s mouth compressed into a thin line and his eyes turned black. “My job is to protect. It doesn’t turn me on.”
His tone chilled her. Still, at least she’d accomplished her purpose. He thought she was a bimbo who had no better sense than to think dealing with kidnappers was a chance for excitement.
Cringing at the censure and contempt in his gaze, Sophie desperately hung on to her false smile.
He buttoned his coat. He was done here.
“All right, Ms. Brooks,” he said finally. “Your idea is actually not too bad. It’s simple and yet unexpected. So if the kidnappers and Montoya agree, you can have your excitement. But don’t forget for one moment that this is deadly serious. One wrong move and you could be killed.”
He paused, but she didn’t take the bait. She just nodded.
“Remember, we have to be ready within two hours. When the kidnappers contact us again, I’ll let Ms. Brennan know immediately.”
Sophie didn’t realize she’d wiped her palms down her sides until his gaze slid along the buttons of her white silk blouse, over the snug waistband of her skirt, down to the hem and farther. His frown stayed in place, and his entire body exuded disapproval.
She swallowed, suffering his assessment. Probably wondering how fast she could run if something went wrong with the ransom drop.
“Tell Rachel Brennan to call me.”
“Of course. Does she have your number?”
He flipped out a card.
Sophie took it.
He nodded and turned toward the door.
She felt a little dirty, and it surprised her how much it bothered her that he actually believed she’d participate in a ransom drop for kicks.
As she watched him walk away, his grace and self-assurance obvious in his sleek movements, she reviewed his change in attitude toward her. He’d started out neutral, with a little bit of masculine appreciation for her appearance. Now though, he apparently thought she was lower than pond scum.
Odd that it mattered so much what he thought. She didn’t even know him.
As she sat back down at her desk, she looked at her notepad. She’d sketched him.
Had he seen it? The sketch was small, but accurate. She turned on her desk lamp to look at it more closely. She’d caught the storms that had gathered in his eyes when he’d spoken of his failed marriage. Looking at the sketch, she noticed there was a subtle difference in how he’d looked then and how he’d looked when she’d been pretending to be a bimbo.
The eyes in her sketch looked sad. Before he left, the sadness had been replaced by distaste.
She held the sketch closer to the light, studying the hint of sadness she’d caught. Did he still love his wife?
Shaking off the question, which was none of her business, she picked up her phone to tell Vicki to cooperate with him in arranging meetings with the staff.
Then she tried to go back to work on her latest assignment, but her curiosity got the better of her. She accessed the archived designs on her laptop. There it was. The Majors/DuVall wedding. Their snow-white invitation had featured two gold-embossed hearts linked together.
She glanced across the salon at him as he spoke with Vicki, then back at her notepad. Pen in hand, she drew two identical hearts, one broken. She swallowed and scratched out the image.
At least that would never happen to her. Not again.

IN A PRIVATE office in an expensive villa overlooking the capital of Ladera, seven men sat around a polished wood table. Three of them smoked cigars. Each of them had a cup of steaming black coffee close at hand.
When the eighth man walked into the room and sat at the head of the table, the other seven sat up straighter. The tall, white-haired man nodded at the servant pouring his coffee.
The servant quickly bowed and exited the room.
“You know why we are here,” he addressed the other men.
A rotund middle-aged man lifted a finger. “Is it true that DeLeon’s kidnapped fiancée has been traced to Ladera?”
“There are rumors. Someone in the Miami area is investigating her whereabouts.”
“And doing a good job of it,” another man commented.
The white-haired man pinned him with a dark glance. “Yes. I have it on good authority that the police are staying out of this investigation, nor have federal officials been called in. But that could happen at any moment.”
“Who is the contact?”
“That is not your concern. You should be squashing interest in DeLeon’s antidrug bills by whatever means necessary while he is preoccupied with the search for his missing fiancée. The Laderan people are counting on the legislature to keep their livelihood from being taken away from them because of DeLeon’s crusade. We must continue to paint him as a fanatic, only interested in revenge for his ex-wife’s mental illness caused by illegal drugs.”
“Juan DeLeon is very popular.”
The man sighed and sipped his coffee. “Exactly. That is why I took the chance of bringing you all here at this time. You are my most trusted allies. Before you leave, I need to make sure that each of you understands your role within the next days. DeLeon has several senators poised to demand an immediate vote on two bills, the first to oust legislators found guilty of corruption, and the second to impose term limits.”
There was a hushed muttering around the table.
“I expect to hear shortly of a development in Sonya Botero’s kidnapping. We must ensure that the votes are timed to coincide. We can’t take the chance that DeLeon will return before the vote is taken. Several of DeLeon’s allies have vulnerabilities that we can use to our advantage. This is where you come in. Hector, let’s start with you. Here’s what you must do….”

SEAN SPENT the rest of the morning grilling the employees at Weddings Your Way, including Sophie Brooks. He left with little more information than he’d come with. Then he drove by the hospital to check on Craig Johnson.
He spoke with him briefly, but the young man seemed too medicated to respond much. Sean was suspicious, but the nurses confirmed that he’d been agitated earlier and the doctor on call had ordered a sedative.
Sean spoke briefly with Johnson’s physician by phone and let him know that he had to speak with Johnson the next day. The physician hired and paid for by Carlos Botero assured Sean that Johnson would be alert the next day.
Sean headed back to his office at the Botero estate and studied the police reports and went over the security tapes. Just as he suspected, he found nothing he hadn’t already seen or heard from the police.
By the time he’d finished, it was after six o’clock and there had been no word from the kidnappers. Michaela would be waiting for him. He picked up the intercom phone.
“Javier, a phone call may come in from the kidnappers. If so, let Mr. Botero speak to them, but you patch me through immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks. Let me speak to Mr. Botero.” After a brief pause, Carlos’s voice spoke weakly into the phone. “Mr. Botero, do you need me this evening?”
“No, no. Javier will be here, as will Cook. You go on home.”
“Thank you, sir. If anyone contacts you, Javier has instructions to patch me through, although I doubt we’ll hear from them tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.”
By the time he got to his apartment off old Route One, it was almost seven. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt as he rode up in the elevator from the parking garage. He unlocked the door and stepped into his brightly lit living room.
He’d barely had time to shrug out of his jacket and toss it onto a chair before Michaela came running in.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! You’re late!”
The blond curls and the wide grin of his precious daughter greeted him like a burst of sunshine after a gloomy day. He dropped to his haunches and held out his arms.
“Hi, sprout. What have you been doing today?”
Michaela giggled as she threw herself against him. “Me and Rosita are making tea cakes. See?” She held up her hands. She was covered in flour and cookie dough.
“Michaela, what did I tell you?” Rosita bustled into the room. “You go and wash your hands right now.”
Michaela pushed away and looked at him solemnly. “I got to wash my hands, Daddy. So I don’t get your suit all dirty.”
He nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
She ran out of the room.
“Too late, but a good idea.” He chuckled as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “Rosita, send these to be cleaned tomorrow, will you? I apologize for being late.”
“Mr. Sean, you get into your room before you take off anything else. It is not proper for you to unclothe in front of a woman of my age.”
Sean laughed and tossed his shirt and tie to her. “Right. Like you didn’t powder my bottom when I was a baby.” He headed toward the master bedroom, which was separated from Michaela’s room by the kitchen and dining room area. At the door, he turned.
“I may be late for the next several days.”
Rosita picked up his suit jacket and rolled it up with the shirt and tie. “No problem. My son and his wife have gone to Disney World. They ask me to go, but I told them all that walking was for young ones.”
“What are you, Rosita, ninety?”
“I am sixty-three, you bad boy. I made you paella for dinner. As soon as the tea cakes come out of the oven, I’m leaving. Tonight is my favorite television night.”
Sean showered quickly and pulled on an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt that said Miami Heat. When he came out, the apartment smelled of cookies. Michaela was waiting in the kitchen doorway. When she saw him her whole face lit up.
“Daddy! Try my cookie.”
He swept her up into his arms and took a big bite of the strangely shaped cookie she held.
“Mmm. It’s good.” He kissed her sugary cheek and breathed deeply of her precious, bubblegum, little girl scent. “Who’s Daddy’s favorite sprout?”
“Me!” She pointed her thumb at herself.
“That’s right. And don’t you ever forget it!”
“Don’t you ever forget.” She shook her finger in his face, and he grabbed it and pretended to bite it off.
His eyes stung as she giggled and jerked her finger away.
Don’t you ever forget it. He hugged her tightly and deliberately locked away the doubt his ex-wife had tried to plant in his head.
“Say good-night to Rosita.”
“G’night, Rosita. Thank you for the tea cakes.”
“Do you know what we’re having for dinner tonight, sprout?”
“Hot dogs!”
He laughed as he headed for the kitchen. “Not quite. We’re having paella.”
“Pie. Eee.” Michaela stretched her mouth this way and that, trying to say the word. “I don’t like it.”
“Sure you do.” He set her in her chair and served up a small portion in a bowl. “Here you go. It’s chicken and rice—sort of.”
She picked up a tidbit of chicken with her fingers. “I like chicken.”
“I know you do, sprout.” Sean grinned and his daughter grinned back. “But use your spoon. You’ll get more that way. Then when we’re done, we’ll get your bath and I’ll read you a story.”
He glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly eight. He needed to work out the details of the ransom drop. He never went into any situation without being fully prepared. But it would wait until Michaela went to sleep.
He didn’t want to miss one second of the time he had to spend with her.

TWO DAYS LATER, everything was in place for the drop. Carlos had received a call from the kidnappers. As Sean had planned it, Carlos pretended to be too weak to talk, so Sean took the phone and identified himself as Carlos’s personal bodyguard. He’d refused to meet them in an abandoned warehouse in a shady part of town and countered with an area in the middle of downtown Miami near police headquarters.
The man on the phone grew angry, but Sean hadn’t lost his cool. He’d taunted them, saying they wouldn’t dare try making the drop near Weddings Your Way. His bluff worked. The drop was scheduled for six o’clock in the evening on the far side of Weddings Your Way’s large cul-de-sac.
Sean checked his watch. It was five-fifteen. He was in Rachel Brennan’s office, along with Sophie, Montoya and a petite blonde who hadn’t sat down since she’d entered the room. She was standing by the window, looking out over the grounds of Weddings Your Way.
Rachel Brennan was pacing. “We’re ready, Rafe?” she asked.
Montoya’s dark brown eyes snapped. “Absolutely. There is ample visibility on all sides. I have three video cameras set up. We will get everything on tape.”
“But your men know not to approach, right?” Sean asked, repositioning the worn baseball cap that was sitting on his knee. He was restless. He wanted to be outside, in place, in case the kidnappers came early.
“But of course. My men are experienced in surveillance. There will be no mistakes.”
Sean heard the words Montoya had bitten off. This time. It was a dig at Craig Johnson and by association, Sean.
His fingers tightened on the baseball cap but he forced himself to keep quiet. He’d wanted to use his own security team, but Montoya had argued that if the kidnappers were watching the place, they’d know all the regulars. A host of new people would spook them. So there wasn’t a single member of Botero’s security team here except for Sean himself.
Montoya’s distaste at having to work with him was obvious. Sean could appreciate that the other man was as angry and frustrated as he was that Sonya had been kidnapped right in front of Weddings Your Way. But the important thing was to get Sonya back.
Now wasn’t the time to get into a turf war.
“Sophie,” Rachel went on. “You understand that you have to be completely in control at all times. You’re going to be walking across that cul-de-sac alone.”
As Sophie nodded, Sean studied Rachel. Her appearance fit with her wedding planning business—all feminine and cool and carefree. But her attitude didn’t. She exuded an air of authority that seemed more suited to a law enforcement organization.
Sensing a movement from his right, Sean glanced at Sophie. His gaze followed her hand as it slid down her thigh, smoothing the material of her gray pin-striped skirt. Her reaction to stress. She was in her usual uniform—pencil-thin skirt that stopped just above her knees; soft, expensive long-sleeved blouse; and those sheer black stockings. Today she wore black sling-back pumps. She couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed for navigating uneven pavement carrying a suitcase full of money.
“Sean?”
He realized he was staring at Sophie’s legs. He dragged his gaze away and acknowledged Rachel.
“I was asking if you had any last-minute changes.”
He shook his head. “Not unless you can convince Ms. Brooks to wear something more appropriate.”
Sophie’s blue eyes glinted. “I don’t see anything wrong—”
Rachel waved a hand. “If you can pry Sophie out of that tight skirt and those panty hose, be my guest.”
Rafe Montoya burst out laughing. Isabelle, the petite blonde, joined him.
Sophie’s face turned a bright becoming pink, and Sean was surprised to feel a grin soften his own features.
“I could give it a try,” he said with a sidelong glance at Sophie, whose eyelids fluttered as her cheeks flamed brighter. She smoothed her skirt again.
“Oh, please. Get a room,” Rachel said, chuckling.
It was a much-needed break in the tension.
Sean stood, wiping the grin off his face. “Let’s take our places. We have about a half hour, and if they come early, I want to be ready.” He headed for the door.
Sophie put her hands to her burning cheeks. Rachel’s offhand remark to Sean Majors had come way too close to the dream she’d had the past two nights that she couldn’t seem to shake. A dream in which he’d done exactly what Rachel had said. He’d managed to rid her of her skirt, make a mess of her blouse, and run his hands up the silk-clad length of her thigh.
She’d woken up shocked and uncomfortably aware of her body’s unfulfilled needs. She never had those kinds of dreams. Ever.
As she followed him down the marble staircase into the main salon ahead of her, she took the opportunity to study him. What was so different about this man that he showed up in her dreams?
Then, when he’d appeared this morning, driving a truck containing the logo of Weddings Your Way’s landscape service, and dressed as a hired gardener, Sophie had found herself facing another, equally intriguing side of him.
Gone was the impeccably dressed young executive. His faded green T-shirt with the ripped-out sleeves exposed tanned, well-muscled biceps and emphasized his broad shoulders. A pair of ancient jeans molded his lean hips and powerful thighs. The jeans had to be ten years old or more. No designer on Earth made prefaded jeans that fit like that. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he donned the frayed baseball cap.
Isabelle, walking beside her, nudged her, then nodded at Sean’s jeans-clad butt. Sophie’s face heated up again. She sent Isabelle a stiff smile.
Still, she couldn’t deny Isabelle’s message. Her coworker was right. Botero’s chief of security was sexy as hell.
She’d already acknowledged to herself that he was extraordinarily handsome. But today he looked earthy and supremely male, nothing like the sophisticated executive who’d grilled her about everything she’d seen on the day of the kidnapping.
This man, with his hair curling slightly around the edge of his cap and his strong neck and excellent body, exuded danger—the kind of danger that had gotten Sophie in trouble years ago. The kind of danger she’d avoided ever since she was seventeen.
At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and waited for her. His face was solemn, his jaw tight, but she didn’t miss the flicker of his eyelids as he checked out her skirt and her legs.
“You sure you can walk in those things?”
She stopped one step from the bottom. In her three-inch heels, she was almost six feet tall, and standing on the step above him, she was able to look down on the six-foot-two security chief.
“Pretty sure,” she said primly. “I’ve been doing it for years.”
His eyes were back to clear teal blue today, reflecting the faded green of his T-shirt. He took a step backward. “I’ll be trimming the shrubbery on the west side of the house. I won’t notice anything until you start across the cul-de-sac. Then I’ll look up. It would be too obvious if I ignored—” he stopped for an instant, then gestured toward her “—all that.”
She lowered her gaze and suppressed a smile as she stepped off the stairs, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She wasn’t unmoved by his obvious admiration of her figure. She wouldn’t be human if it didn’t please her that a man as handsome as he was found her attractive.
Rafe headed out the back door, through the pool area, to check on the video-surveillance setup. Isabelle followed Rafe, and Rachel had remained upstairs. She would watch from the third floor.
“You know where Montoya has positioned the long-range rifles. They will be trained on the pickup men. They obviously can’t be too close, because of the width of the cul-de-sac. There’s nowhere to hide.”
She nodded. “Two are in the next house down, and one is on the roof of Weddings Your Way.”
Sean touched her arm. “Don’t worry. We’ve got you covered.”
The brush of his hand against the sleeve of her blouse was reassuring. She looked down. “Your fingernails.”
He frowned at her and glanced down at his hand.
“They’re not dirty.” She touched one square-cut nail.
“Trust me, they won’t be looking at me.” He smiled at her and her heart fluttered. “Now I’m going outside and getting to work. I need to be sweaty and totally focused on my job when they get here.”
Sophie swallowed and nodded.
“Remember, don’t exit the building until two minutes after six. Even though they specified six o’clock, I doubt they’ll approach until they see you. Just walk straight across the cul-de-sac, set the plastic bag down under the sign, and turn and walk back. Don’t look back. Don’t react to the sound of the car. Just walk, don’t run, back to the building and get inside. Got it?”
She took a long breath. “Got it.”
Sean went out the back door, leaving Sophie alone in the cavernous, elegant main salon of Weddings Your Way. She stepped over to the front doors, beside the bag that contained the ridiculous sum of money the kidnappers had demanded.
Checking her watch, she saw that she had seven minutes until she could open the double doors and walk out. It was going to be a very long seven minutes.

SEAN SNAPPED viciously at the shrubs with the pruning shears, not cutting anything, but working up a sweat. With dark sunglasses and his baseball cap, it should be easy to observe the action without being obvious about it. He hacked at the greenery a few more times, then lifted his cap and wiped his brow with his forearm. Not hard to work up a sweat in Miami in July.
He checked his watch. Two minutes after six. Where was Sophie? He put his cap back on and pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead. The hot Miami sun gave everything a bright, overexposed look. The three immense houses visible on the street reflected the sunlight like polished metal. The street itself shimmered in the hot still air. With a flip of his head he dropped the shades back down onto his nose and squinted up the road beyond the cul-de-sac sign. Nothing. Not even a garbage truck.
He wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t expected the pickup men to show themselves before the drop was made. He was sure they were watching. He had that itchy back-of-the-neck feeling. They would probably wait until Sophie had set down the sack and gone back inside. They might even wait until dark.
He reached behind his back and patted his paddle holster. His T-shirt barely hid it, but it had to do. He wasn’t about to let her walk out there without his personal protection. He’d allowed her to become embroiled in this and he wasn’t going to breathe easily until she was safe.
He heard the faint rhythmic clicking that signaled Sophie’s high heels on the marble terrace at the front entrance.
She walked across the terrace and stepped off the curb onto the paved driveway. She moved slowly and deliberately, her head held high, her fingers wrapped securely around the bag. He knew it was heavy, about forty pounds. But she seemed to manage it without too much of a problem.
Sean used the tail of his T-shirt to wipe sweat off his cheeks and neck, never taking his eyes off her sleek, perfect figure. From her silky blond hair to her even features, to that dynamite figure and those incredible legs, she looked to him like the perfect woman.
If he were interested, she’d be just his type. Of course, he wasn’t. Not at all. He had Michaela, plus a more than full-time job. He didn’t have the time or the inclination to date.
Still, there was something about Sophie Brooks that appealed to him on a primal level. He enjoyed looking at the female form, especially one as sexy and sleek as hers. But it was more than just her looks that drew him. It was her attitude. Her demeanor.
Something about her resonated within him, like a tuning fork that picks up a perfect pitch and vibrates long after the sound should have faded.
A place deep inside him began to burn. It was a slow burn, a smoldering hunger he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.
He hefted the pruning shears and pretended to cut some more leaves as he surreptitiously watched Sophie nearing the sign. She glanced around.
“No, no, Sophie. Just set the bag down and come on back,” he whispered.
She angled her head slightly, almost as if she’d heard him. Then she bent at the knees and set the bag carefully just under the sign.
As she rose, she looked sidelong up the road, then started back toward the Weddings Your Way building.
The faint sound of a car engine caused her steps to falter.
“Come on, Sophie. Get back inside. I don’t want you hurt!”
Sophie heard the car gun its engine. Don’t look back, Sean had warned her. But her CIA training and instincts told her to never leave her rear unguarded.
She retraced her steps back to Weddings Your Way, but the muscles of her back tensed as the car drew closer. Why hadn’t they stopped at the sign to pick up the bag?
Suddenly, the engine’s roar was too close. Sophie glanced over her shoulder, her hand reaching for the holster at the small of her back—the holster that wasn’t there. She was no longer a CIA agent.
The large black car was accelerating toward her. But just as soon as the realization hit her brain, the driver torqued the car sideways and skidded.
She heard a shout from the direction of the house and saw the glint of sunlight on metal.
She dove for the ground as a shot rang out. Her knees hit the pavement and she rolled, coming down hard on her shoulder as a second shot followed the first. Her elbow screamed with burning pain, but she kept rolling until she reached the edge of the pavement.
Sophie lifted her head just as something landed on her back. Something hard and hot.

Chapter Three
The car spun, spitting gravel, as two shots popped.
A harsh voice boomed in Sophie’s ear. “Stay down!”
She lay under the heavy weight of Sean’s body, the sharp gravel biting into her cheek and palms. His chin rested against her hair and his left arm shielded her head. She tucked her face into the crook of his elbow.
The car’s roar faded, its tires screeching as it rounded a corner. Sean’s weight lifted for an instant, then he rolled off her. She sat up in time to see him reach behind his back and slide his weapon into his paddle holster.
He rose from a squat, his long, muscular thighs straining the faded denim of his jeans. As Sophie rose, Sean gestured at Rafe, who had rounded the building and was headed their way, his cell phone to his ear. He nodded in Sean’s direction.
Apparently satisfied that Rafe’s team was tailing the car, Sean turned his attention to Sophie. “Are you hurt? Did you get hit?” His face was smeared with dust, emphasizing the lines between his nose and the corners of his mouth.
She shook her head and took his outstretched hand.
“Sure?” His gaze surveyed her swiftly and competently. He touched the torn sleeve of her blouse, gently lifting the ripped flap of silk to examine her shoulder. Instinctively her hand brushed his away. “I’m fine. I banged my shoulder when I rolled.”
He met her eyes. “Quick thinking, and an excellent move.”
Sophie pulled her gaze away from his and looked down, avoiding the question he hadn’t voiced. Who taught you to move like that?
Her silk gabardine skirt was ruined. Gravel had scraped the sheen off the fabric, and dirt and grass stains crisscrossed it like a finger painting.
She brushed at the material and winced. Turning her palms up, she saw the abraded skin. “Ow,” she muttered.
Sean placed one hot hand at the curve of her hip and turned her palm up with the other, examining it as he guided her back toward the Weddings Your Way building.
“You’re not totally okay, are you?”
Her knees and palms were scraped, her shoulder and elbow throbbed, and her heart was stuck at the back of her throat. She’d been hurt much worse; these were minor injuries. But no one knew that and after all this time, she doubted anyone ever would.
“Go inside and get someone to check you out. I’m going to talk to Montoya.”
She looked back at the bag, still sitting under the sign. “What was that all about? They didn’t stop.”
Sean shook his head, his mouth grim. “I don’t know. I’m not sure they ever intended to pick up the money.”
“Wait.” She reached for his arm. His skin was hot against her scraped palms. “What do you mean? Then why did they shoot at me?”
“I think this was a test. They agreed awfully easily to our choice of location.”
“A test? To see if we called in the police?”
Sean shrugged as gravel crunched behind them. It was Rafe.
“Soph, you okay?”
She nodded as Rafe touched her shoulder in a protective gesture. Confidential’s chief of security took his job seriously.
“I’m fine. What’s happening?”
Rafe’s black eyes appraised her quickly, then he faced Sean. “Go on inside, Sophie. Majors and I have a couple of things to straighten out.”

BACK INSIDE, Sophie sat at the kitchen table on the second floor. She arched her shoulder. “I hit the ground on my right shoulder, and my palms and knees are scraped.” She looked down and saw the shredded stockings. “Dammit.” She tried to tug her skirt down, but it was too short.
Isabelle hurried in with the first-aid kit just as Rafe and Sean stepped into the room.
Rafe eyed Sophie but spoke to Isabelle. “She’s okay?”
“I told you, Rafe, I’m fine,” Sophie said.
“What’d you see?”
“I never saw the car until it was right on me. I tried to follow Sean’s instructions not to look back. I don’t think the car had a license plate, but I can’t be sure.”
“There was no license plate,” Sean said.
Rafe scowled as he dialed a number and listened. “Okay, guys. Good job. Bring in the videos. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
He put away his two-way radio. “Right. No plate, glass too dark to see through. You didn’t get a look at the shooter, did you?”
Sophie shook her head. “Sorry. I saw the reflection of sunlight on metal and dove instinctively.”
Isabelle dampened a square of gauze in alcohol and dabbed at Sophie’s knee through her shredded stocking.
Sophie waved her away. “Don’t,” she said. “I’ll run home and change. That will be the easiest thing.”
She heard the muted desperation in her voice and hoped everyone would chalk it up to reaction to being shot at. She had to get out of these ruined clothes and stockings, and she didn’t want anyone watching her.
She looked at her pin-striped skirt in regret. It was frayed at her hip where she’d hit the ground and damp from Sean Majors’s sweat. As she brushed her hand over the back of her skirt she felt Sean’s eyes on her.
Sean was all gritty primal male, with his bare, sweat-streaked arms, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. His eyes were stormy as he looked her over.
“That was a pretty good duck and cover you managed out there.”
Sophie stiffened. “Self-defense course,” she muttered.
Isabelle quickly stood, gathering up the first-aid paraphernalia. “Come on, Sophie. Let’s go into the dressing room and I’ll take care of those scratches and scrapes.
Sophie shook her head. “Nope. I’m going home.” She reached for her purse, and winced at her scraped palms. For some strange reason, she began to shiver. “I’m—I’m fine. I just need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“I’ll drive you,” Sean said.
Sophie stared up at him in surprise. She’d have bet he wouldn’t have left the scene until he’d gone over every square inch of it.
“After all, it was my fault you were out there getting shot at.”
“That’s for damn sure,” Rafe muttered.
Sean stiffened. “At least it was a plan.”
Sophie rushed to defuse the animosity between the two. “All right, please. Drive me to my apartment. I’ll change and we can come back here to discuss our next move.”
Rafe caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She needed to watch what she said.
Sure enough, Sean picked up on the remark. “Our next move?”
She stood and nodded. “Sure. Your next move.”
“Montoya, how long before I can see those tapes, and interview your men? Mr. Botero is going to want to know exactly what happened.”
“Any time you want. While you’re chauffeuring Sophie, I’ll take a look at them.”
Surprised at how shaky she still felt, Sophie directed Sean to her car, a late-model BMW convertible.
He stopped. “Maybe we should go in the pickup. I’m liable to get your car dirty.”
She looked him over, moistening her lips as her gaze lingered on his dust-streaked hair, the T-shirt that hung loose over his jeans, the mud-caked work boots.
Then she looked down at herself. “I’m as covered with dirt and dust as you are.”
“Okay.” He reached to open the passenger door for her and the muscles in his arm rippled. She knew how good that arm had felt, curved protectively around her head. No one had ever put themselves in harm’s way for her. Never. It was a new feeling. A warm and disturbing feeling.
Her body gave a little shudder as she moved in front of him and stepped into the car. Her tight skirt rode up, drawing a glance and a scowl from Sean before he slammed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. He dug a cell phone out of his pocket before he climbed in and buckled his seat belt.
As he pulled away, avoiding the section of the driveway where the kidnappers’ car had spun around, reaction to her near miss clutched at Sophie.
Her job with the CIA had been as a graphics expert. She’d spent most of her time forging documents, identifying and duplicating inks and dyes used in water-marks and aging paper. She’d never had any field experience, although she’d gone through all the training and kept her firearms proficiency up to date.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/mallory-kane/covert-makeover/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.