Read the book: «Covert Makeover»
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
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?”
The free excerpt has ended.
