Aidan had to show Frankie this engagement ploy was a mistake.

“Are you prepared to be my fiancé?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied automatically. “I always go the distance in my investigations.”

“And in other areas?”

“Are you flirting with me?”

She closed the distance and pressed her lips to his. Warmth spread from that point of contact down his arms, sizzling in his fingertips as her gaze held him captive. Then her eyelids drifted shut. She pushed her hand into his hair and drew him closer for a full, sensual kiss that blasted through him like a flash grenade.

She was like a double shot of whiskey with a drop of honey—all fire with a hint of sweetness. He changed the angle, tipping up her chin and taking control of the kiss. When her lips parted on a sigh, he slid his tongue across hers with bold strokes.

“I think that will convince anyone,” she said. It sure as hell convinced him.

Gunning for the

Groom

Debra Webb & Regan Black

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DEBRA WEBB, born in Alabama, wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain—and a five-year stint with NASA—that she realized her true calling. Since then the USA TODAY bestselling author has penned more than one hundred novels, including her internationally bestselling Colby Agency series.

REGAN BLACK, a USA TODAY bestselling author, writes award-winning, action-packed novels featuring kick-butt heroines and the sexy heroes who fall in love with them. Raised in the Midwest and California, she and her family, along with their adopted greyhound, two arrogant cats and a quirky finch, reside in the South Carolina Lowcountry, where the rich blend of legend, romance and history fuels her imagination.

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Authors

Dedication

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 Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Copyright

Chapter One

Chicago, Illinois

Wednesday, April 6, 5:30 p.m.

Victoria Colby-Camp rose from her desk and turned to her beloved window. She watched the gentle spring rain falling upon the city she would always call home. Evening lights twinkled, reminding her that it was time to go home. Home. A smile tugged at her lips. How had she considered for even a moment that any other city on earth could take the place of Chicago?

The most wonderful years of her life, as well as the most painful ones, had played out here. Her son was here, as were her beautiful grandchildren. No matter how warm it was or how much sun south Texas had to offer, it would never be the Windy City.

Sensing Lucas’s presence, she turned, her smile widening automatically. She had loved this man for so very long. Even when her first husband, James Colby, was alive, Lucas Camp had been her dearest friend. The two of them waited many years before allowing that lifelong bond to bloom into a more intimate relationship. Their wedding day had been one of the happiest of her life—in part because that momentous occasion came almost at the same time that her son found his way back to her. Jim Colby had been missing for twenty years when he came back into her life. So many miracles had happened that year.

Victoria’s life had come full circle now. Her family was safe and happy and she was back in the city she loved.

“You’re ready to go?” she asked, when Lucas remained in the doorway.

“No hurry. I could stand here forever just looking at you.”

“Lucas, you’re too kind.” Even after all these years as man and wife, she could feel her pulse react to his voice, as well as the compliment. “I’m ready.”

Tomorrow was another day at the Colby Agency offices and she couldn’t wait to see what it held.

Chapter Two

Savannah, Georgia

Thursday, April 7, 8:05 a.m.

“Morning, Frankie!”

Francesca Leone, Frankie to everyone who knew her longer than a few minutes, smiled on her way to the office she shared with two other people. It wasn’t much more than a converted storage space, but she didn’t mind. She’d worked in tighter quarters during her time with the navy. Life in Georgia had been good to her. Landing this job as an analyst with the Savannah Police Department gave her a healthy, long overdue sense of renewed purpose.

The past eighteen months had been an arduous journey personally and professionally. An act of terrorism and the resulting injury had ended the navy career she’d loved. For too many months, her life had narrowed to a pinpoint focus on surviving the physical trials, only to be assaulted by the emotional upheaval that followed. She hadn’t realized how much of her identity had been tied to her military service until it was gone. But here she’d found a fresh start and was building a strong new foundation, far from the looming shadow of her father’s name and the constant worried gaze of her mother.

Feeling her back aching a bit from yesterday’s extended run, she eased into the desk chair, setting her mug of tea to the left of her computer monitor and locking her purse in the bottom drawer. When her computer booted up, she wasted no time getting to work. A string of recent robberies crossed several precincts, and it was her job to find any connections to help the detectives create a list of suspect traits.

Although the work didn’t rank as high in the elements of danger and thrill as her former SEAL team missions, she found tremendous fulfillment when her contributions helped close cases.

She was making notes on the similarities between thefts when her desk phone rang, and she picked it up. “Leone.”

“Francesca Leone?”

She didn’t recognize the quiet male voice on the other end of the line. “Yes.” Pausing to glance around when someone called her by her proper name was a purely instinctive reaction. “How can I help you?”

“I worked with your dad on several operations,” the man explained.

Her heart stuttered in her chest. It never seemed to beat properly when the topic of her dad came up. She bit her lip, refusing to deliver the coarse response on the tip of her tongue.

“I considered him a friend,” the caller said into the prolonged silence.

And yet she noticed he didn’t offer her a name. She wasn’t an idiot. Since her father, General Frank Leone, had been accused and convicted of treason, no one claimed any kind of link to him. This couldn’t be an old friend who’d lost touch or wanted to leave the general’s daughter with a memorable photo.

Smelling a setup, she decided the caller must be a reporter sniffing out a new story angle. Unfortunately for him, there weren’t any. It had been over a year since the verdict, and her review of every available shred of information had yet to yield any solid intel that could remove the terrible stain on her dad’s career. “What do you want?”

“First, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Her hand fisted around the receiver, but she didn’t take the bait. Her father had killed himself ten months ago, shortly after the verdict came down. While she wasn’t over it, she never let that weakness show—to strangers or friends.

“I just need a few minutes of your time,” the caller said. “Your father trusted me with something you should have.”

Curious now, she checked the urge to slam down the phone. “All right.” A face-to-face chat was the fastest way to determine if there was anything legitimate about this guy. “And your name?”

“When we meet,” he replied.

She’d anticipated that response. Odds were he wouldn’t have given her a real name, anyway. “How will I know you?”

“I’ll know you.”

Of course he would. Growing up on various army bases around the world with two parents who rated the highest possible security clearances, Frankie valued caution and understood paranoia. “Fine. Meet me at Bess’s Diner in the historic district in an hour.” That would give her plenty of time to drive by and get her head on straight.

Fifty minutes later she sat in her car, studying a man leaning against a bike rack in front of the diner across the street. Short, graying brown hair; late forties, early fifties maybe. Assuming he was the caller, she was pleased he didn’t give off the hum of urgency she’d learned to expect from reporters. While nothing about him struck her as familiar, in her experience the best covert agents were comfortable hiding in plain sight. As she climbed out of her car, she inconspicuously snapped a couple of pictures with her phone. If the man really knew her dad, he’d know about her mother’s work, and her own abbreviated career, as well.

Or maybe this wasn’t the guy at all, she thought when he didn’t react as she crossed to his side of the street. She didn’t acknowledge him as she aimed for the diner door.

“Miss Leone.” His voice proved she had a few instincts left. “Thanks for following through.”

“Sure.” She stopped, kept her stance easy and her hands loose at her sides while she waited for him to make the next move.

“Name’s John,” he said, extending a hand. “Your father was a good friend of mine.”

John. She nearly asked if the last name was Smith or Doe. Not that it mattered. Anyone openly admitting to being General Leone’s friend had bigger secrets than a name. She suddenly wished she had something more to go on than his pictures in case she needed to track him down after this meeting. His was one of those nondescript faces that would be hard to remember. This close, she could see that his eyes were brown, as well. Straight nose. No scars. The kind of face that would blend in with the crowd.

They walked into the diner and found a booth. She noticed he took the side facing the door. If this guy didn’t have covert operations training, he’d read all the right books. When the waitress approached, John ordered coffee and Frankie ordered hot tea with honey. She wasn’t in the mood for anything, just wanted something to keep her hands busy while she listened to whatever John had to say.

“Your dad and I go way back,” he said. “I count Frank and Sophia as my closest friends.”

Frankie couldn’t hide the unpleasant chill she felt at the mention of her mother’s name. She hadn’t spoken to the woman since her father’s funeral. The once proud and strong Leone family had been fractured beyond any hope of reconciliation.

“You still on the outs with her?”

“Why does it matter?” Keeping things compartmentalized was practically a Leone genetic trait. Frankie’s personal life didn’t intersect with her professional life. She never discussed her parents with anyone. Clearly, this man knew the family dynamic, though the situation was fairly obvious. Her mother lived and worked in Seattle, while Frankie lived and worked here, as far away as possible. She still periodically checked for jobs in Key West, Florida. There were questions she knew she’d never get answered, so Frankie clung to the simple truth that distance preserved the peace.

“It doesn’t.” John leaned back as the coffee and tea arrived. When the waitress walked away, he continued. “Look, I know you were close to him and I know he was proud of your career.”

“Thanks?” His well-informed statements didn’t put her at ease. They only made her more uncomfortable. She stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea and went on the offensive, eager to hurry this along. “Any decent search of the internet could give you that much,” she said. “When I was first attached to the SEAL team, they did a write-up in the local paper, got a glowing quote from him.” She set the spoon aside. “Tell me why we’re here.”

The man’s brown eyes were sharp as he studied her. “Because your father was a hero and someone turned him into a scapegoat.”

Whatever his real name, she agreed with John on that much. Her biggest regret was that she hadn’t been there for her dad during the ordeal. Injured or not, she resented that she’d never had a chance to tell him she believed he was innocent, or that she loved him despite the stones thrown from all sides. There hadn’t been any tender farewell phone call or last words in a note. When her father made a decision, he followed through. He’d killed himself shortly after the guilty verdict, before she’d regained her ability to walk unassisted.

The memories of hearing the news swamped her and she raised her tea to her lips, the cup shaking slightly. Sophia, with no trace of emotion, had explained her husband’s suicide and told Frankie what would come next regarding services, the will and estate, and the rest of it. In the days immediately following the tragedy, Frankie had tried to talk to her, hoping to make sense of the senseless. Her mother had been too wrapped up in the legalities and had quickly moved on as though a lifetime of marriage and family had meant nothing.

“He’d be happy to see you strong and healthy again.”

John’s quiet voice brought Frankie back to the present with an unpleasant jolt.

“I like to think so.” She carefully placed the cup in the saucer.

“You’ve done well reestablishing yourself.”

“Uh-huh.” She toyed with the handle of her cup. “You said you had something for me?” She didn’t want to talk about her father or her new life. Not with a therapist, not with a friend, and definitely not with a stranger.

“Yes.” He reached into the pocket inside his sport coat and fished out a small gray envelope. “This matches a safe-deposit box in Tucson,” he explained, his voice no more than a whisper. With one finger he pushed the envelope, which presumably held a key, halfway across the table. “No one mattered to your dad as much as you did. He can’t tell you in his own words, but the answers you’re after are there.”

Answers. Frankie blinked away the rush of tears blurring her vision. She’d expected dog tags, or maybe her dad’s class ring from West Point. Answers were a thousand times better. She hadn’t been prepared for someone who believed her father had been railroaded, and wanted to help her ferret out the truth. She caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth and fought valiantly for composure. There would be time for emotions later. “How do you know what answers I’m after?” she asked, using his phrase. “Dad’s case is closed.” It was hard to believe this could be the break she needed to clear her father’s name.

John left the envelope on the table, pulling his fingers back and drumming them on the rim of his coffee cup, watching her closely. “The case is officially closed, but it’s nowhere near done for you. You take that and you’ll have a chance to right a wrong.”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from that slim gray envelope. “Why don’t you do what’s necessary with the information?”

He shook his head. “This is for family. I’m just the messenger.”

Frankie sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean what those words implied. She’d learned that her mother’s testimony had come into play during her father’s trial, though Frankie had never understood why it hadn’t helped. Sophia refused to discuss the matter, which left Frankie with more questions than answers at every turn.

“From where I’m sitting I’d say you got that stubbornness and tenacity from your dad,” John said, urging her on in his quiet way.

Frankie covered the envelope with her hand, pulling it closer to her side of the table. Either she hadn’t been as discreet as she should have been or John had the depth of access that went with the cloak-and-dagger routine. She thought of the inquiries she’d made after her father’s funeral. All of them had turned into frustrating dead ends. Hope surged through her that this key would unlock the secrets about General Leone’s final missions overseas.

She peered into the envelope before tucking it into her pocket. Taking it didn’t mean she had to do anything about it. She studied John’s inscrutable face. “How can I reach you?”

“You can’t.” His gaze moved systematically around the coffee shop. “My being here, even for a few hours, puts you in jeopardy. This has to be our only communication.”

She gave a short nod as her mind reeled. This man was the first person who showed any sign of agreeing with her about her father’s innocence.

John pulled out his wallet and tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table. “You don’t have to go and you don’t have to be in a hurry,” he said. “In fact, I recommend you take some time and think it through. What’s inside the box isn’t going anywhere.”

She knew she had to go. She couldn’t ignore this opportunity. A flight to Arizona was nothing in the bigger picture. Her family had imploded under the treason accusation. Knowing her father had died disgraced and alone, Frankie still felt an ache in her heart. If there was any information that would cast a light of truth into those dark final days and clear his name, she meant to find it. “I’ll go.” As soon as she could arrange a few days off work.

Getting to Tucson was the easy part of the equation. There was no way to tell what would come next until she’d seen the contents of the box for herself. After the last lead dried up a few months ago, she’d been less aggressive in her private inquiry, resigned that she might never learn who’d set up her dad. Cautiously pushing hope aside, she considered that this meeting and the trip to open a safe-deposit box could be nothing more than an elaborate ruse or distraction, though she didn’t know who would gain by such a tactic.

“What you discover could make things worse,” John warned.

“Thanks,” she whispered, stunned by the dramatic shift her morning had taken. The key in its envelope felt like a stick of old dynamite in her pocket, shaky, volatile and ready to blow her life apart without any notice. “Unless you have more insight, I guess I’ll figure that out when I get there.”

“Whatever you decide, be careful.” He slid to the edge of the booth. “The people who took down your dad have a long reach and violent habits.”

She resisted the urge to try to enlist his help. He’d clearly done all he was going to do. “I can take care of myself.” She’d trained hard to earn her place as a cultural liaison with the navy SEALs. Her well-honed skills and habit of excellence hadn’t been affected by the back injury that wrecked her military career.

“I hope so.” He stood up. “Your dad always wanted the best for you.”

Frankie believed that was true. She watched her father’s mysterious friend leave, disappointed when he walked out of view. She’d hoped to catch him getting into a car. Staring into the tea cooling in her cup, she weighed the pros and cons of each possible next step. Did the cons even matter? Every decision in life came with a price; every option held some risk.

Her gaze shifted to the window and the bustling activity on the street outside. She had a new career as a crime analyst. She enjoyed it. Her life was stable and she gained satisfaction in the work and being involved with the community. And she knew herself well enough to know that part of her fulfillment came from finding justice for victims.

The whole truth wouldn’t bring her father back, but it could open the door for justice and potentially restore his reputation. He’d served honorably and deserved to be remembered for the way he’d protected national interests, as well as the soldiers under his command.

She pulled out her phone and researched flight options. By the time she got back to the office, she had her explanation ready and a realistic idea of the days off she would need to run down this lead.

Tucson, Arizona

Friday, April 8, 8:40 a.m.

FRANKIE CHECKED OUT of her hotel room and left the cool lobby for the warm sunshine of the Arizona springtime. Her boss had waved away her vague explanation of a family crisis and granted her time off through the end of next week. It helped that Frankie could do much of her work long-distance if necessary. She’d gotten on a plane last night. Waiting for morning had proved one of the hardest things she’d done in a while.

Hailing a cab, she gave the driver the bank address as her mind raced yet another lap around the same tired circuit that had plagued her since she left the diner yesterday. Every time she reviewed what she’d learned since her father’s death, the timing of the charges and the sequence of events, she bumped smack into her mother’s uncharacteristic behavior and apathy. Her mom was hiding something; Frankie just couldn’t guess what or why. Hopefully, whatever her father had stashed in this safe-deposit box would take her a step closer to the truth.

Sophia, as a military analyst for the CIA, had the clearance access and professional connections to support the general’s defense. At the very least, she should’ve given Frankie a better explanation for how things had spiraled out of control. Her injury and recovery weren’t a reliable excuse any longer. Neither was the nonsense about Frankie’s career being negatively impacted by her father’s misdeeds.

He was innocent. Whatever had happened during those last few months in Afghanistan, Frankie knew her father hadn’t betrayed his oath to his country, and she meant to prove it.

It was a relief when the cab stopped and she had to think about paying the fare. Taking her suitcase and the backpack serving as her laptop bag and purse, she headed inside the bank, then paused to look around. She didn’t know why her dad had chosen this facility. They’d never lived on the nearby post, though she was sure both her parents had been here at one time or another, since Fort Huachuca was home to the Army Intelligence Center.

Frankie offered a polite smile as she showed her key and requested access to the safe-deposit box. Her palms were damp as she followed the teller toward the vault, the wheels of her suitcase rattling over the marble floor. When both keys had been inserted into the respective locks, the teller pulled out the slim drawer and walked toward a small alcove.

“Just draw the curtain back when you’re done,” she said. “And we’ll replace the box for you.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Frankie said as the woman walked away.

She stared at the closed safe-deposit box on the table, her feet rooted in place. Now she had second thoughts. Her dad had left her something here, something he hadn’t trusted to her mom’s care. The truth of her father’s downfall could very well be inside. Frankie had come this far; she had to see it through. One step, then another, and she rested her trembling fingers on the cool metal box. John’s warning echoed in her head. She believed with every beat of her heart that her father had been a scapegoat. Whoever had gone to those lengths to avoid the consequences obviously didn’t want to be exposed.

If she looked inside, there would be no going back, no way to undo whatever she learned. Holding back or walking away—those weren’t valid options, either. Not for Frankie.

“Don’t have to like it, just have to do it.” She whispered one of the favorite motivators from her SEAL training as she opened the box. She didn’t have to act on it; she just had to know.

An envelope marked Top Secret was no surprise, though surely the evidence against her father should rate a higher clearance level. Under the envelope she found a flash drive, half a map and two passports. Slipping the drive into her pocket, she discovered both passports had her mother’s picture beside different names and birth dates.

Assuming John had gathered the evidence in this box on her father’s behalf, Frankie wondered how he’d gotten the passports away from her mom. Seduction or burglary? A small voice in her head suggested this field trip was a setup, and Frankie’s temper flared in bitter denial. John was a wild card, definitely, but she would not leap to any conclusions until she’d exhausted every lead.

Frankie tamped down her frustration. The attention an outburst would bring was the last thing she needed here. She tucked the fake passports into her backpack and kept going.

A smaller envelope held her father’s dog tags, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She looped the cool metal chain around her fingers. When she was little, her dad had often let her wear his tags when she played dress up with his boots and uniforms. If she’d had any doubts about John’s claims, the dog tags dispelled them. With care, she poured the tags and chain back into the envelope and added it to her backpack. Only one item remained, a small jewelry box covered in worn black velvet.

Her fingers curled back into her palm. That box didn’t belong here. Her father had kept it on top of his dresser in the bedroom. The ring inside came out only for official functions.

Frankie popped open the lid, praying she was wrong, that this was something else. It wasn’t. She bit her lip, staring down at her father’s class ring from West Point. Snapping the box shut, she pressed it close to her heart, as if somehow that would make everything that had gone wrong right again.

This ring was central to her image of her dad, of the honor, dedication and commitment he’d given to every endeavor. She opened the box again, smoothing her finger over the heavy gold band. All her life she’d watched him, captivated by the stories he told as he polished it for special occasions. She’d caught him once just holding it, dazed, when he returned from a deployment. Her mother had told her later that one of his classmates had died.

When had he stored it here and why? Frankie couldn’t think of a single answer to either question. “I’ll figure it out, Dad. I promise,” she murmured, sliding the ring box into a zippered inner pocket of the backpack.

Finally, she unwound the red string tying the large envelope closed and shook out the papers inside. After-action reports were on top. She skimmed each page, noting the details that weren’t blacked out. The dates and locations matched what she already knew of General Leone’s final months in Afghanistan.

She forgot everything else when she found the transcript of her mother’s statement about his activities in Afghanistan. Icy dread tickled the nape of Frankie’s neck and she steeled herself against the involuntary shiver. Sophia Leone had created a report that didn’t support her husband at all. She’d tossed him under the proverbial bus.

What the hell? Her parents had always been a team. From Frankie’s first memory they’d been affectionate and happy, devoted to each other. They’d embraced life, taught her everything she valued about being in love and being loving. They’d exemplified respect, support and drive as they went after their individual and mutual goals together.

How could Sophia turn on him?

Frankie blinked back a red haze of fury as she read the cold, sterile statements that tied her father to criminal actions. Fumed over the implications that he’d sabotaged missions for personal gain. The report did nothing to corroborate General Leone’s account of critical operations. Good grief, in light of this statement, no other verdict than guilty had been possible.

Frankie pulled out the band holding her hair in a bun and worked her fingers over her scalp. At least she understood why her mother had refused to discuss any of this. Frankie wound her hair back up into place as she read the terrible statement again.

Two dates stood out to her, dates when she knew her father had been at the Bagram Airfield, when her mother stated he’d been in Kabul. She checked her watch, wishing she had time to boot up her computer and check the flash drive here. Now that she had a lead, she was eager to chase it down. With any luck the drive would have more details she could assess and pull into a cohesive case against her mother. No wonder her dad had killed himself. Someone had set him up so well with the treason charge that even his wife had turned on him.

“And I was useless,” Frankie whispered to herself. During his trial she’d been stuck in a hospital bed while surgeons debated the best treatment for her spine injury.

She fisted the papers in her hands as something inside her shattered. John had warned her and he’d been right. Appalling as this was, the answers gave her a target. Sophia owed her more than another weak evasion. Frankie had asked her mother point-blank about the allegations and charges against her dad, and the answer had been to trust the legal process and keep believing in him.

Frankie had obediently complied and the process had failed her father. Along with a helpful boost from her mother, apparently. Even after the verdict, her mom had insisted things would work out, that her father wasn’t done fighting. Now it was obvious those assurances had merely been more lies and platitudes to cover Sophia’s part in the witch hunt.

Why? Who gained? Her mother had put the life insurance and other assets into a trust for Frankie, and turned her attention to a new private security business out in Seattle, Washington.

After stuffing the papers back into the envelope, Frankie secured the tie, suddenly uncertain. Was it safer to leave the evidence here or take it with her?

John had given her one key. Typically, safe-deposit boxes were issued with two. He’d told her that his visit, brief and cryptic as it was, put her at risk. She hadn’t done anything to hide her travel plans, so if someone were watching, whoever it was could easily conclude she’d been here. She decided to take everything and create a new hiding place.

John must have gathered the legal and personal items on her dad’s orders. Frank would’ve known his daughter would never buy in to the treason charges. He wanted her to clear his name—Frankie felt it like a flame deep in her heart. If he believed in her to do that, why kill himself?

Confused and hurt, she couldn’t quite see the next step beyond leaving Arizona. Her gut instinct was to fly out to Seattle and confront her mother. Just the thought had Frankie braced for a battle. Showing up in a fit of anger wouldn’t help. Her mom was far too composed, too deft at sliding around the truth for a direct attack.

There was no way Frankie could do this until she calmed down, planned it out. She needed to go through the flash drive and it would be smart to get a second opinion on the documents, just in case John was playing her.

She thought about the dog tags and the West Point ring as she rubbed her knuckles across the scars and tight muscles at her back. If that was the case, she had to give him points for knowing his target.

“Think, Frankie.” There were always options. Her military training had changed her way of thinking. As a SEAL she’d embraced the clever and creative strategies required for a small force to succeed when outnumbered by a larger, better equipped opponent.

She smiled as she made her decision. It was time to visit another friend of her father’s. A friend, unlike John, she could be sure of, based on her personal experience. After the safe-deposit box went back into the vault, she booked herself on the next available flight to Chicago.

Victoria Colby-Camp could help her.

Chapter Three

Chicago, 5:30 p.m.

Frankie had fond memories of visiting with “Aunt Victoria,” though it was an honorary title. Somewhere in a box she had yet to unpack in Savannah, there was a framed photo of her with Victoria at a Fourth of July barbecue. When news of her father’s suicide flooded the media, Victoria had been one of the few people who’d sent her a sympathy card.

The evidence of her mother’s betrayal burned through her system as Frankie sat in Victoria’s reception area. She wanted advice on how to proceed. Sophia couldn’t be allowed to get away with this.

Frankie shifted in the chair. It was a nice enough piece of furniture, for someone who hadn’t spent too many hours on airplanes recently. She needed to take a break to stretch and let her back recover, but she had no time to waste. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t change the simple fact that she wouldn’t rest easy until this was over.

The receptionist stationed outside Victoria’s office directed Frankie to the coffee service, and she had barely declined when Victoria opened her office door. Frankie smiled. The woman still looked as regal as she remembered. Though her dark hair was now streaked with gray, Victoria remained beautiful.

“Frankie, what a pleasure to see you again.” She crossed the room and gave her a warm hug. “It’s been far too long. How are you feeling?”

“Fit as ever, though the navy docs didn’t clear me for active duty.”

“That’s frustrating,” Victoria said, guiding her into the office and closing the door behind them. “Have a seat and tell me how things are going. I hear you joined the Savannah Police Department.”

Frankie smiled. “As an analyst,” she replied, though she was sure Victoria knew that, as well. It would’ve been more surprising if Victoria hadn’t checked into her background. “It’s good work and I enjoy it.”

“But not as exciting as your previous career.”

“Few things are,” Frankie agreed.

“Your message sounded quite urgent,” Victoria said, concern in her eyes.

“It is. Thanks for seeing me.”

Frankie had rehearsed the talking points on the flight and refined them in the cab. Now her stomach clenched. Maybe she should’ve taken more time to review the flash drive first. No, the statement alone was damaging enough to enlist Victoria’s opinion and guidance. “I need some advice,” she began.

Just start at the beginning and walk through it step by step, she coached herself. She was more convinced than ever that her mother had been part of the plan to railroad her father. What baffled her was why. And rushing straight to that conclusion without the backstory would get her nowhere. Victoria was her last chance.

“I’m glad you came to me,” the older woman said, her voice soothing.

“You knew my parents well?”

She nodded. “I knew them both, long before they married.”

“Did you follow their careers?”

“Not particularly. Mainly what they shared in Christmas cards or when your father made the news.” Victoria reached for her cup of coffee. “For his successes.”

Frankie rubbed her palms on her jeans, wishing she’d worn the one dress she’d packed for this trip. Her soft green sweater set felt too casual next to Victoria’s polished style, and Frankie felt absolutely outclassed by the elegantly furnished office. Everything screamed experience and expertise. Which was why she was here. “I don’t know who else to turn to,” she admitted. “I found evidence that my mother lied to me about my father’s case, and probably several other things, as well,” she added, thinking of the passports.

Victoria set her coffee aside. “What sort of evidence?”

Frankie pulled the statement from the envelope in her backpack. Handing it over, she explained, “Sophia had a choice and she willingly contributed to his guilty verdict.”

“Sophia?” Victoria echoed with an arching eyebrow. She studied Frankie over the top of the document. “You actually believe that.”

“I’ve suspected it for some time,” Frankie replied. “You’re holding the proof.”

Victoria picked up a pair of glasses and set them in place to read the statement. When she finished, she placed the papers gingerly on her desktop, as though they might explode. “How did you get this?”

“A friend of Dad’s came to see me. He gave me a key to a safe-deposit box and warned me the contents could be dangerous. That document was one of several items inside.”

“Go on.”

“False passports with Sophia’s picture, a flash drive with more information that connects her to my father’s death, and other personal items from Dad.”

“Did you recognize this friend?”

“No,” Frankie admitted. She pulled out her phone and brought up the pictures she’d taken at the diner. “Do you? He told me he was close to my parents.”

Victoria adjusted her glasses and carefully examined each photo. “I’ve never seen him. You should speak with your mother and verify your source and the accuracy of this statement.”

“I have.” Frankie swallowed her impatience. “Well, I haven’t asked her about this man, but we’ve talked about Dad. Argued really. Her answers weren’t clear or helpful. Or even honest, in light of all this.”

“Frankie. You’ve been part of covert operations. It’s a world of smoke and mirrors. You know reports rarely give the full picture of any situation.”

“You won’t help me get to the truth?”

Victoria sighed. “What are you asking me to do?”

Frankie wanted to get up and pace or scream, or otherwise release some of the frustration building inside her. Instead, she remained in the chair. “I have nightmares about my dad’s downfall and death. He wasn’t a traitor.” She stopped and swallowed when her voice started to crack. “I can’t believe it, not about the man I knew.”

“Frankie—”

“I know I’m looking at this with a daughter’s eyes. I talked with Sophia several times when he was accused and after they found him guilty. She was too composed through the whole mess. Never a tear or any sign of worry. What kind of wife doesn’t worry when her husband is accused of treason?” Frankie paused, pulling on the tattered edges of her composure. Losing it would get her nowhere. “Sophia never gave me anything but the same tired reply—trust the process.”

“It’s sound advice.”

“It didn’t work.” Frankie left out the irrelevant piece that trusting a legal process included zero comfort factor. “It was a self-serving answer,” she argued. “Suicide isn’t part of any fair or just process. How did he even manage that with the security team that must have been surrounding him?”

Frankie took a moment to compose herself. “Aunt Victoria, I have a new job, I’m making a new life, but I haven’t moved on. Not really.” She scooted to the edge of the chair. “I need the answers. I deserve to know what happened and who I can trust. There’s no way I can move forward until I clear up the past.”

“I understand how that feels,” Victoria said, her words heavy with the wisdom of experience. “But leaping to conclusions will only hurt you. Others, too, most likely. I’ve known your mother a very long time. Her word should be enough for you.”

“What word? She won’t explain herself,” Frankie pressed, desperate for Victoria’s help. “My father’s been silenced. I want to understand what happened.”

“You want revenge,” Victoria stated bluntly. “Who will you target and what price will you pay?”

Frankie forced herself to calm down, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “My dad isn’t a traitor. Even dead, he doesn’t deserve to bear that notoriety.” She fidgeted in the chair, wishing again she could get up and pace. “Apparently the friend of his who found me yesterday is the only person who agrees with me.”

“You don’t know that.” Victoria tapped the papers in front of her. “This statement doesn’t prove your mother was complicit if there was a concerted effort to ruin your father. She had to make an accurate report. Her position and her integrity required it.”

“It’s not accurate. Dad was in Bagram when she stated he was in Kabul.” Frankie hadn’t felt so helpless since she’d woken in a hospital bed with no feeling in her legs. She needed an ally. Just as the candid support of the medical team had empowered her recovery, one trustworthy partner would make all the difference now.

Victoria’s eyes lit with troubled interest. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I was there. I saw him.” She nearly cheered when Victoria’s brow furrowed as she reviewed the report again.

“Let me see the passports.”

Frankie handed them over and endured the small eternity awaiting Victoria’s response.

The older woman reached for her phone and pressed a button. “Ask Aidan to join us, please.” She replaced the handset and met Frankie’s gaze. “Aidan Abbot is one of my best investigators. No one’s better with documents or ferreting through layers of security or fraud. He can tell us if the passports are fakes.”

“How could they possibly be real?”

Victoria flipped through the pages. “Frankie, you know there are times when an established alias is necessary. Or all of this could be an elaborate setup to turn you against her.”

“I’ve already been against her for months. We haven’t spoken since his funeral.” An event that had been postponed a full month so Frankie could attend. Too bad it hadn’t made anything easier. The delay had only given her mother more time to pretend life with her spouse hadn’t existed. The brutal lack of emotion had shocked Frankie. Still did. If Sophia so willingly cut out a husband, losing a daughter probably hadn’t registered on her scale. Everything Frankie thought she knew about love and family had been turned upside down by a disaster someone had manufactured. Hurting, her blood beating cold in her veins, Frankie fixed her gaze on the window and the city glittering beyond it.

“Let’s assume you’re right,” Victoria continued. “It would require serious planning and resources to systematically take down a man of your father’s standing. To create evidence strong enough to ruin his career and push him to suicide without leaving a trail would be almost impossible these days.”

A knock sounded on the door. Frankie turned to see it open and a man with thick, dark hair in need of a trim, and vivid, cobalt-blue eyes, enter.

“Aidan Abbot, Francesca Leone.”

“A pleasure,” he said, shaking her hand.

There was a trace of Ireland in his voice and it sent her pulse into some foolish feminine skipping. He probably got that all the time, she thought, irritated with her reaction. “Likewise,” she replied.

“Francesca’s a lovely name.”

The way he said it made her want to sigh and forget why she’d come here. She cleared her throat. “Call me Frankie.” She’d been named in honor of both her grandmother and father. Her full name had always felt too exotic. “Frankie” was a better fit for the tough and proud little girl who’d spent her life aspiring to be like her dad.

When he was seated, Victoria handed Aidan the passports. “Frankie has some concerns about these.”

Frankie watched him examine them, involuntarily admiring his hands, as well as his attention to detail. More annoying was the difficulty she seemed to be having with the fact that he wore some appealing cologne that reminded her of the Pacific Coast on a clear, sunny day.

“One woman with two names implies that one of them is a fake,” he said after a moment.

“Both are fakes,” Frankie stated firmly.

Aidan arched a dark eyebrow, and his mouth quirked up at one corner. Frankie felt a warm tremor just under her skin. It was a relief when he turned that bold blue gaze toward his boss. “If there’s no question, why call me?”

“There may be good reason those passports were issued. Would you mind taking a closer look into the names and any travel records?”

“Not at all.” He tapped the closed passports against his knee. “How much time do I have?”

“A few hours at most,” Victoria said, her eyes cool. “Frankie wants the information yesterday.”

Frankie couldn’t sit still a moment longer. Her back ached from the travel and the tension. She wanted the freedom and clarity of a quick run but settled for pacing the width of the office. The patience she’d relied on in the field and in her work didn’t translate to this situation. “That’s a start. Can you tell me what sort of legal action we can take?” She shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Why don’t you give me what you have?” Victoria suggested. “Let my team investigate while you go back to Savannah. We’re good, objective and fast. I’ll call you as soon as we know something.”

Frankie shook her head, her ponytail swinging. “I’m not sitting this one out.” She’d been relegated to the sidelines too often since her injury. While she couldn’t say she knew her parents better than anyone—the opposite appeared to be true—she wouldn’t deal with this long-distance via secondhand reports. She wanted to see her mother’s face when the truth finally came out.

“Then why did you come to me?”

She felt Aidan’s gaze on her as Victoria waited for an answer. Frankie wished she could ask him to leave. She didn’t want to share the ugly Leone family secrets with a stranger. “For support and guidance,” she replied, keeping her gaze on Victoria. “I took vacation through next week. I’ll go to Seattle and confront my mother about that statement while you investigate the passports and other documents. Won’t that be enough time to know if we have a case against her?”

“Frankie—”

“I’ll tell her I want to reconcile, to mend the rift,” Frankie explained. “Hopefully, she’ll buy it and open up. If that isn’t enough, I’ll ask for a job. Anything to lower her defenses.”

Victoria glanced at Aidan. “Frankie’s mother owns Leo Solutions, a security firm in Seattle.”

“Cyber or personal?” Aidan inquired.

“Both, if I understand the setup,” Frankie answered. “She and her business partner built it on the backs of their government careers.” Regretting her burst of bitterness, she plowed on. “Once I’m out there, I thought I’d worm my way past her defenses. With your agency working this behind the scenes and me working on-site, I’m sure we can get to the truth quickly.”

“Frankie.” Victoria leaned back in her chair, her reading glasses in her hands. “Going out there with the intent to deceive your mother is a terrible risk.”

Frankie paused, studying her. “I’ve worked undercover before.” She couldn’t afford to think of this as anything other than a mission. If her mother could ignore the bonds of family, so could she.

“That’s not what I mean. Please, sit down.”

Reluctantly, Frankie returned to her chair. She didn’t want to endure a lecture on discretion or family unity in front of Aidan, but it seemed Victoria wasn’t giving her a choice.

“Since I clearly can’t stop you from going, I’m sending Aidan with you.”

“Pardon me?” Having braced for the lecture, Frankie needed a moment to digest the actual statement. “That’s not necessary.” She shot a quick look in Aidan’s direction. “Can’t he research the passports and documents from here?”

“I want him on-site,” Victoria said. “You shouldn’t be out there alone.”

“I’ll keep you updated—” Frankie began.

“I know you will,” she interrupted. “That isn’t the point. I refuse to take any chances with your safety.” She turned to her computer monitor, and her hands rattled on her keyboard for a moment. Then she met Frankie’s gaze with a thoughtful expression. “Assuming your mother’s statement is legitimate, your search will likely lead to someone better prepared to retaliate than offer up a confession.”

Yes, Frankie was angry and she was hurt. That didn’t make her a fool. “I’ve considered that and taken precautions.” She didn’t want or need a babysitter. The fewer witnesses to her family embarrassments, the better.

“Good,” Victoria replied.

“You know I can protect myself.”

“This isn’t up for debate, Frankie. I’ve known you since you were a child. You’ll give your mom a call and let her know you’re coming out for a visit. We’ll get Aidan an interview with your mother’s company by Monday afternoon.” She held up a hand when Frankie started to protest again. “I’m sure he’ll be hired. As former Interpol, he knows his way around security and covert operations. Once the details are settled, the two of you can work together.”

Call her mom? She wasn’t a teenager caught smoking in the girls’ room. Her mother wouldn’t believe Frankie suddenly had an urge for mother-daughter bonding time, and Frankie wanted the element of surprise. “That’s not—”

Victoria cut her off. “I insist that you have someone watching your back.” Standing, she came around the desk and pulled Frankie to her feet for another hug. When she let go, her eyes were misty. “Legal debacles and strained relationships aside, try to focus on the things your parents did right. They gave you their love and affection through a wonderful childhood. Both of them raised a strong, independent woman.”

Frankie did her best to muster a smile as the grief sliced through her. She’d questioned every nuance of her life lately, wondering what to believe about her parents and how that impacted her view of herself. Cornerstones of her upbringing seemed little more than loose theories in light of recent events. “I’ll be careful,” she repeated, not wanting to lie to Victoria.

“I hope your mother helps you find what you’re after.” The woman’s smile was sad. “Would you like us to stay while you make the call?”

Frankie hesitated, but only for a moment. If this investigator would be trailing her around Seattle, he might as well get a taste of what he was in for. He’d be combing through her family’s secrets soon enough.

* * *

AIDAN DID HIS best impersonation of an invisible man while Frankie spoke briefly with her mother. It was clear she wasn’t happy about Victoria’s insistence on the task, but his boss was difficult to outmaneuver. Her voice cool and her face pale, Frankie managed a polite exchange, excusing herself from the office the moment it was over.

“The woman’s a spitfire,” he observed, closing the door behind her. He admired her grit. Not to mention her lush sable hair, expressive dark eyes and that generous mouth. Even without the surname Leone tipping him off, her perfect posture implied a military background. Although with those cheekbones and long limbs, she could’ve passed as a model. If she wasn’t a new client, he might have asked her out for a drink. “I’m to get myself hired and then what?”

“Find a way to stay close to her. If the documents are real, she’ll be a target as soon as the person pulling the strings learns she found them. I want you there. You’re the best at unraveling knots like this one.”

That was Victoria’s way of saying she suspected fraud, his primary focus during his time with Interpol. “Do I report to you only?” The freedom and case variation were nice, though his favorite part of being a Colby investigator was the concise chain of command.

“Yes, please. I don’t care for the way she was led to what she considers proof positive her mother willfully ended her father’s career. The only thing I believe about the man who dropped this in her lap is that digging for the truth could get her hurt. Or worse.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Aidan waited for the other shoe to drop.

“General Leone was an excellent strategist,” Victoria said, almost to herself. “Frankie takes after him. She’s smart and highly skilled, but I’m afraid she’s rejecting the most logical explanation. It’s understandable under the circumstances. I’m sure you heard the temper and need for vengeance in her voice.”

He bobbed his chin. “Hard to miss.”

“Please tread lightly,” Victoria continued. “As you meet Sophia Leone and work out the details with Frankie, keep an open mind. You might be the only one who can.”

“Of course.” At least in this case he wasn’t at the center of the storm battering the family. There was a great deal of comfort in that.

“I’ll send you her file for review,” Victoria said, leaning back against her desk. “The most pertinent fact is Frankie’s service as a cultural liaison with the navy SEALs.”

That gave Aidan pause. Though it was the only post women could fill on those operations, very few had the tenacity and fortitude to do so. “She looks a little young to have hit her twenty years already.”

“She suffered a serious injury while her team was in a convoy that left her paralyzed for a time. Inconveniently, her recovery coincided with her father’s problems. Surgery and months of rehab got her walking again, but the navy retired her for medical reasons.”

That explained some of the anger, Aidan thought. He knew firsthand it was never easy to relinquish control when life dealt out an unexpected detour.

“She claims she’s fit,” Victoria added, “but I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Duly noted,” Aidan said. Healthy and able-bodied weren’t the same as fit for service. If this case turned into a danger zone, he’d offer protection first and apologize for any insult later.

“Expect her to try to shake you.”

He’d already reached the same assumption. “Do you think she’ll blow my cover?”

“No. She wants the truth too much to take that chance. That doesn’t mean she’ll cooperate with you.”

“She’s not my first challenging case,” he reminded his boss.

Victoria blessed him with an amused smile. “I was right to call you in on this one.”

“I’ll see her safely through whatever happens,” he promised.

“Thank you. It’s the least I owe her parents.”

A firm knock sounded on the door and Victoria signaled for him to open it. He did, finding Frankie on the other side, her dark eyes sparking with impatience. She marched right past him to confront Victoria. “Your receptionist tells me she’s booking us on a flight to Seattle tomorrow.”

Aidan took a position that gave him the best view of the inevitable fireworks.

“That’s right,” Victoria said. “I’m not taking any chances, and you told me you didn’t want to waste any more time.”

“I need to go home first,” Frankie replied. “I’ll travel from there.”

Victoria folded her arms across her chest. “Do you think your mother hasn’t kept tabs on you? Traveling from Savannah gains you nothing. Sophia and I are friends. She might very well call me for advice about you. We’ve both had challenges with children.”

Frankie didn’t cooperate with the clear dismissal. “That’s not it,” she protested.

Victoria tapped her reading glasses against her palm. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Brick, meet wall, Aidan thought, watching the two women.

“No.”

The internal battle Frankie was obviously waging dragged out for another long minute. She still didn’t explain herself. Aidan caught Victoria’s eye. “Frankie.” He waited for her to turn his way. “Any gear you might want you can borrow from us. I’ll show you the way.”

Behind Frankie, he caught Victoria’s relieved expression when the younger woman finally agreed, slinging her backpack over one shoulder and retrieving her suitcase. When they were alone in the elevator, he felt a modicum of tension ease. He asked what she expected to find in Seattle.

“I’m trying not to expect much of anything,” she answered.

“That limits the potential disappointment.” He’d walked through life a long while with that mind-set. “And the potential happiness.”

She sighed, her hand flexing on the strap of her backpack. “I know I must sound like an overgrown toddler on the verge of a tantrum.”

That wasn’t what he saw at all. He saw a woman in pain, confused and wary. “I don’t know enough about your situation to have an opinion.”

She looked up at him and laughed, the startled, bright sound bouncing around the elevator car and spilling out as the doors parted. “Oh, you have an opinion,” she said. “Maybe I’ll ask for it later.”

He didn’t want to be fascinated by this new client with a huge chip on her shoulder, yet he couldn’t quite stop himself. She exuded stubbornness, and he couldn’t imagine what kind of strength required to overcome her injuries.

As an investigator, he was naturally curious about all the things she hadn’t said, but it certainly didn’t help his concentration that she made such an art form out of walking.

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