“You’re so damned beautiful.”

Holt drew back a step. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“I disagree,” Cecelia insisted.

Of course she would. But it was a mistake, more on her part than his.

“I don’t want to be gentle with you.” He wanted to scare her, wanted to back her off. But it wasn’t fear he saw in her eyes, it was…anticipation.

“So don’t be gentle.” She tugged at his tie and slid it out of his collar.

“Cecelia.” It was the only coherent word he could get past his lips.

“I’m right here.”

Her fingernails scraped lightly across his chest.

“I’m not that white knight you’re looking for,” he said with an ache that almost undid him.

“I don’t care.”

Would-Be

Christmas

Wedding

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

DEBRA WEBB 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 within the confining political walls of Berlin, Germany, that she realized her true calling. A five-year stint with NASA on the space-shuttle program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romance, suspense and action-packed romance thrillers since. Visit her at www.debrawebb.com or write to her at PO Box 4889, Huntsville, AL 35815, USA.

MILLS & BOON

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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 Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter One

The National Mall, Washington, D.C.

Thursday, December 18, 11:45 a.m.

So this is how it feels to be a traitor.

Emmett Holt exited the metro at the Mall. Of all his less-than-admirable traits and accomplishments, this one had brought him to an all-new low.

There was no going back from this, no explanation or excuse he could offer for the damaging evidence he was about to hand over. While it was only a flash drive, it felt like a fifty-pound weight-lifting plate from the gym. He knew Director Thomas Casey had someone tailing him and he knew better than to waste time trying to make that identification.

If this sting backfired, if either Thomas Casey or his nemesis, Bernard Isely, got impatient, Holt—standing between them—would get cut down in the crossfire. Not exactly the way he’d seen himself going out of this business, much less this world.

Handing over the reports from the Germany mission when Casey had killed Isely’s father was a stop-gap measure. Isely wanted both the intel on the old mission and the vial of the deadly virus Mission Recovery had seized two months ago.

It didn’t take a genius to know Isely wanted a whole hell of a lot more than that. The man had one goal: to exact revenge and destroy Director Casey.

Holt was running out of excuses to keep both men at bay. And timing was everything.

He walked with purpose toward the National Air and Space Museum gift shop, just another man picking up another gift amid the throng of tourists. The weather was clear and the wind cold, but winter hadn’t turned truly bitter yet and people were still wishing for an idyllic white Christmas.

Holt could only wish he would still be alive come Christmas.

He stopped where the text message had told him to stop, feeling like a damned puppet on a string. Even knowing at the beginning that it would come down to this didn’t make it easier to stomach the reality of doing so. He was used to giving orders, not taking them.

Handing over this tiny piece of technology and the huge intelligence it stored marked the beginning of the end.

It might have been a few years since his last field op, but the skills didn’t go away. They were far too deeply engrained. He checked his phone, made the drop and didn’t die or get arrested as he walked back to the metro station.

“Did my warning help?”

Holt didn’t miss a step as Isely joined him on the escalator. “Sure.”

After receiving a picture of Director Casey’s sister, Cecelia Manning, and the single warning of “Beware,” Holt had dug into the woman’s recent history to see what threat or purpose she might pose for Isely. Or for him.

He’d learned all kinds of details he didn’t want to know, from her favorite perfume to her tight circle of wealthy friends who toddled about doing charitable works.

Then he’d found the big splashy occasion he knew Isely had been looking for: the charity gala the widow had organized to benefit cancer research in memory of her late husband. The event offered the perfect opportunity.

“And?” Isely prompted.

Holt wasn’t inclined to answer truthfully. He’d exhausted himself planting bugs in the woman’s house, a GPS tracker on her car, opening a profile that matched hers on an online dating site and monitoring her general safety while maintaining his own responsibilities at Mission Recovery.

“And her family will join her at tomorrow’s event,” Holt replied, giving the man what he wanted.

“You will take the appropriate action?”

Holt nodded, letting his hand shake just a touch. He didn’t want to oversell it, but a traitor would have reservations and a few jangling nerves at this point. He had a wild hope that a specialist would come charging in—now—before this got messy.

“I will send the address when it is time.”

Holt nodded again as the train came into the station.

“Don’t worry, my friend.” Isely’s hand landed heavy on Holt’s shoulder. “You have a new team now. You are not alone.”

Friend?

Isely couldn’t know it, but that was Holt’s worst fear.

Chapter Two

Alexandria, Virginia, 2:15 p.m.

“I know you’re disappointed, Mom.”

Cecelia Manning filled two mugs of coffee and handed one to her daughter, Casey. She watched Casey add a scant teaspoon of sugar and a hefty dollop of milk.

When the risk of milk ending up on her counter was minimized, she said, “My application was accepted.”

“What?” Casey’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am completely serious,” Cecelia replied. She decided hiding the pain her daughter’s reaction had caused was best for now. Neither her daughter nor her brother approved of her desire to go into fieldwork for the CIA, but Cecelia had had more than she could take of the boredom and routine of pushing paper around the agency office.

Her husband had worked in the CIA for the entirety of their married life, until he’d passed away just over a year ago.

Her brother was the director of an elite team of covert agents known only as “Specialists.” Her daughter had gone into CIA fieldwork, as well. Yet they all expected her to...what? Continue in her predictable, safe role, making Sunday dinners and birthday cakes and learning to knit while she waited for Casey and her new husband, Levi, to provide the grandchildren she wanted to spoil.

She sipped her coffee and saved the scream of frustration for when she was alone again.

“Mom, you can’t.”

“Can’t?”

Casey’s eyes flared as she obviously caught the warning Cecelia had packed into that one word.

“I didn’t mean can’t like that.”

Cecelia sipped her coffee, waiting. More than a little curious how her daughter intended to wrench her foot out of her mouth.

“It’s just...” She shrugged. “You’re my mom.”

Cecelia traced the handle of her bright stoneware cup.

“Fieldwork is crazy,” she added.

Holding her daughter’s gaze, she waited for an intelligent argument to arise. Not that she’d let anything deter her from her plans. Since her husband’s passing, she’d merely gone through the motions of day-to-day life and now she was ready for something new. She needed something new... Like a life where she felt needed and...wanted.

She’d survived the shock and grief of losing the man she’d loved and expected to grow old with. She’d learned to cope with a quiet house and the sympathetic looks of her friends and neighbors.

Her work had been an anchor, steadying her as she moved from one stage to the next. Now it felt like a stone dragging her to the bottom of the Potomac when she thought of sitting behind a desk for the rest of her working days.

With William buried and their daughter a happy newlywed, Cecelia’s life, unexpectedly, was her own, and she was determined to see just what she could do with it.

“Mom? You’re not even listening.”

“No,” Cecelia admitted. “I’m not. Whether you approve or not, I’m making this move.”

“Mom.”

“Casey.” She mimicked her daughter’s exasperated tone. “I appreciate your concern, but I didn’t leap into this blindly. This decision isn’t a whim or even a midlife crisis.” She saw Casey blush and knew her daughter had indeed suggested those unflattering theories. She and her uncle, Cecelia’s brother, had discussed this move at length. “The agency wouldn’t have accepted my request if I didn’t have the physical or mental fortitude to succeed.”

She held up a finger. “If you dare mention the Equal Opportunity Act, I’ll throttle you. Don’t think I haven’t learned a thing or two about minimizing risk already. I am not as naive or helpless as you seem to think.”

Casey held up her hands in surrender. “You’re a self-defense ninja.”

“Don’t you forget it, either.” Cecelia smiled. “I know enough about the process to know my two closest relatives did not recommend me.”

“That’s not true.”

Cecelia let the fib go unchallenged. Her family wanted the best for her, but they just had a different idea of what that looked like. “And don’t worry. You’ve been through the training yourself. It’s not like they’re dumping me out on the street first thing Monday morning.”

Casey sighed. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to take some vacation and travel? Field operations isn’t a game, Mom.”

Her daughter’s complete lack of confidence cut deep, but she supposed it was to be expected. When you walked one path for the duration of a relationship, changing directions was bound to stir things up.

Maybe there had been enough talk of change for the moment. “How is Levi?”

“He’s fine. His plane gets in around eight.”

“And being married is wonderful?”

“Yeah,” Casey admitted with a secret little smile. One Cecelia remembered wearing long ago when she was that age. “You’re sure you’re okay with us spending Christmas with Levi’s mom in Florida?”

“Of course. You’re now part of his family, too. Don’t worry about me. I have plans of my own.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I bought a ticket for—”

The doorbell rang and Casey shot her a curious look. Cecelia only smiled as she set her coffee aside. “I have friends. We even do stuff,” she added with a wink. “It’s probably about tomorrow night.”

Before she reached the front door, it opened and her brother, Thomas Casey, walked inside. The tension was a palpable force rolling off him and bouncing around the narrow foyer.

Worst-case scenarios bounded through her head before she regained control. She’d learned early in her role as a wife and mother that a cool head was the best asset she could bring to any situation.

“What is it?” She said a quick prayer that it wasn’t his new wife, but her mind absolutely blanked when he laid his hands gently on her shoulders.

The doctor who’d explained William’s terminal diagnosis had done that, wearing a similar grim expression and looking at her with an emotion caught somewhere between sympathy and pity.

She shrugged out from under her brother’s touch and shook off the uncomfortable memory. Whatever had brought Thomas rushing into her home, she instinctively understood she wasn’t going to enjoy the news.

“Casey’s here,” she said, stepping out of his reach. “Come on back to the kitchen and have some coffee.”

“We need to talk.”

She swallowed the bitter words dancing on the tip of her tongue. Why did her family have so little faith in her abilities? “Not if you’re here about my move to ops next month.”

“That got approved?”

She rolled her eyes. No amount of good manners could have stopped the exasperated reflex. Temper wasn’t something she frequently indulged in, but right now she was ready to do the one thing she’d never done in her life: kick her family out of her home.

Casey brightened considerably when she spotted her uncle. After a warm hug, they stood side by side and faced Cecelia.

“Go ahead and say whatever you need to say.” Let them try to deter her. Teaming up against her would get them nowhere. She was making the move to ops, regardless. She’d already made arrangements for a house sitter while she was training.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Casey?” Thomas nudged her to the stool at the counter beside Cecelia. “You may as well know the truth of what we’re up against.”

“I beg your pardon?” Cecelia stared at her brother as a fresh wave of concern rolled over her. “What truth?”

“You have to go into protective custody. Today. Right now, Lia.”

A chill raised the hairs at the back of her neck. Her brother didn’t shorten her name unless he was seriously distressed.

“I’ll go pack a bag for you, Mom.” Casey hopped off the counter stool, but Cecelia stayed her with a look.

“Why do I need protective custody?”

Thomas slumped forward, leaning his forearms on the counter and lowering his voice. “The analysts picked up some chatter about you.”

“Me?”

“You’re in danger. A pawn in a bigger game,” Thomas growled. “It’s my fault.” He pushed back from the counter and paced away, then swiveled back. “One of my enemies plans to kidnap you. At least that’s the rumor making the rounds.”

“Oh, that’s going too far, Thomas. We both know none of your enemies could possibly know about me.” Her brother was the director of Mission Recovery, a covert team so dark, not even the president was routinely briefed on their operations. When Thomas or his Specialists were in the field, their cover stories were solid, with no links to their real lives. The only way an enemy could know about his connection to her... Oh, dear God.

“He has a mole inside my team. The kidnapper is likely to be one of my own Specialists.”

That was all Casey needed to hear. She slipped by Cecelia and rushed up the stairs.

“That’s impossible. It doesn’t make sense. Your team is devoted to you and their work. You handpicked each one of them.”

Thomas grimaced and scrubbed a hand across his short hair. “Well, I clearly made a mistake somewhere.”

“Who?” Stunned, she took a moment to wrap her head around such a ridiculous idea. No one betrayed Thomas Casey. “Who on your team would dare to cross you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m setting up an op to take him down.”

Cecelia relaxed a fraction. “Then there’s no reason for me to run and hide.”

Thomas glared at her. Having grown up with him, she didn’t find the expression so intimidating.

“Lia, this mole is devious. He’s been operating right under my nose for months now. When we make the arrest, it’s going to stick, but he’s going to fight back. Locking down the evidence for this kind of thing takes time. I’m not going to allow you to get caught in the middle.”

“Allow?” She laughed. “I’m a grown woman.”

“I know that.” He clasped her hands in his. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

“So we agree.” She met the determination in his blue gaze with an equal measure of her own. “I’ll be careful, keep your number on speed dial, but I’m not going into hiding, Thomas. Not under any circumstances. It’s my turn to challenge myself.”

Besides, even if she wasn’t making this career change, she just didn’t think she could manage that kind of drastic shift in her plans. Not in the middle of this holiday season.

Last year’s holidays had been marred by her husband’s death. She’d still been receiving sympathy cards amid the annual Christmas letters and greetings. The abundance of charitable donations made in his name had been kind and wonderful expressions from caring friends.

And nearly unbearable as she wrote out each and every thank-you note. She felt awful and it was as if every bright moment last year was eclipsed by the darkness of her loss. It had been sheer determination and more than a little detachment that had got her through.

Promise me you’ll live your life. It was the last coherent conversation she’d had with her husband before the aggressive brain tumor had made her a widow.

She’d been trying to honor that request, and she had no intention of letting a rogue agent and a vague threat get in the way. She was living her life.

“You can’t be that selfish,” Thomas barked. “Or that foolish.”

She reeled back as if he’d struck her.

“I’m sorry. Sorry,” he repeated, holding his hands up. “But don’t you see if you’re out there—” he flung a hand wide “—you become leverage they can use against me to get what they want?”

“For how long?”

“Pardon?”

“How long would you keep me in protective custody? Where would I be? What excuse would I give to the people who are counting on me this weekend?”

Thomas blinked rapidly and frowned as if he were trying to catch up. “I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe longer.”

That would never work. Cecelia shook her head adamantly. “This is the wrong time, Thomas. I realize you didn’t plan this, but you know I have commitments.”

“The charities and parties can manage without you.”

“But I don’t want them to. And I won’t let a vague ‘maybe longer’ interfere with my plans.” That was exactly what she was trying to change in her life. The idea everyone else seemed to have that nothing she did mattered enough that it couldn’t be cast aside at the drop of a hat.

“Cecelia, please cooperate. The man pulling the strings on this won’t hesitate to hurt you. He turned one of my own people against me. He nearly killed me a few times over between the airport and Casey’s wedding.”

“And yet you made it.” She patted his cheek. He really didn’t need to go so far in his effort to talk her out of this move. “I’ll make it, too—if this threat to me even proves more than a rumor.”

“I had years of field experience and another trained agent at my side,” Thomas protested.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Mom,” Casey hesitated in the kitchen doorway, a big suitcase behind her. “You might put your friends in danger.”

“That’s hitting below the belt and it won’t work.” Cecelia set her hands on her hips. “Your father didn’t marry a bubble brain, no matter how the two of you believe otherwise.”

“You’re twisting things up,” Casey said. “This has nothing to do with your career change.”

“Maybe it should.” The words were out before she’d really thought it through, but she warmed to the idea immediately. “I’m taking leave through the holiday until I report for ops training. Why not use me to trap the traitor on your team?”

“How can you help if you’re a victim?” her brother demanded.

“If they make the attempt, you can close in and you’ll have your rogue agent. If—big if—I get kidnapped, you’ll have someone on the inside.”

Thomas shook his head. “No way. I won’t risk your life that way. Even if we wired you, this guy would either find it or jam the signal, rendering the exercise pointless.”

Cecelia held her ground, undeterred. “You can get creative and use me as an asset, or stop wasting your breath. Even if you put me in a safe house, I wouldn’t stay there.” Not this year. She had plans, a ticket to the Caymans and maybe even a new friend who might be encouraged to join her on a holiday getaway. But she wasn’t sharing that. As unsettled as these two were about her career change, she didn’t want to see how they would come unglued over her personal secret.

“If you were asset material, I’d have recruited you already.”

Casey gasped, but Cecelia gave her brother her most serene smile. “When is this kidnapping supposed to happen?”

“I don’t have a hard date. The analysts are working on it.”

“I see.”

“Who is the mole?” Casey wanted to know.

“I’ve narrowed it down to two people.”

Cecelia arched an eyebrow. He’d already avoided this question once.

“Has to be either my deputy director or his assistant. They’re the only ones who have the access to the information we’ve discovered that has been leaked to my enemy.”

“And your gut says who?” Cecelia pressed.

Thomas sighed, rubbed his temples. “My money’s on Deputy Director Holt. He’s the only one who would know where to start looking. I just don’t think his assistant could manage this alone. As much as I hate to admit it, it has to be Holt.”

Cecelia rode out the jolt of surprise, hoping the two people staring at her didn’t notice. She thought about it for a minute or two as Thomas went on about how he was still having trouble accepting the man would turn like this. Cecelia sipped her coffee, found it had gone cold. She dumped it out and poured a fresh cup.

Okay, reality check. What were the odds that two men named Holt would come to her attention within weeks of each other, one working for her brother and another through the online dating site?

Didn’t take a master spy to figure that out. Slim to none, she figured.

Might as well put it on the table. “Emmett Holt?” she asked.

“Yes.” Thomas scowled. “How do you know his name?”

“A man by that name was a last-minute donor to tomorrow’s gala fundraiser,” she hedged. And he’d been flirting with her online for the past few weeks. Those emails and text messages had been fun and full of life, but those feelings were fading quickly with Thomas’s bleak news.

She’d learned long ago that coincidences usually weren’t a matter of chance. She wouldn’t put it past her brother to encourage a member of his team to make a dating connection and set her up like this, just to keep an eye on her. And he’d be feeling pretty guilty if the man he assigned to such a task was working against him.

But Thomas didn’t look the least bit guilty, only stunned.

She moistened her lips and asked the question. “You didn’t know he contacted me?” If this wasn’t Thomas’s idea, she wasn’t about to clarify the precise manner of contact had been a dating service. They’d balked enough at her career plans.

She held her breath, a big part of her hoping there really were two Emmett Holts.

“How does this guy spell his name?”

She glanced to her daughter. “Casey, bring me my purse, please.”

“It’s right here.” Casey already had it balanced on the top of the suitcase.

“Aren’t you efficient?” Cecelia pulled out her tablet and brought up the details about the charity gala she’d organized for the pediatric children’s oncology unit in memory of William. “There.” She highlighted the line on the screen that showed donor names, addresses and emails, and then turned it so her brother and daughter could see it. “I was told he called the office yesterday morning, asked how close we were to the goal and then donated the balance.”

“Holt?” Thomas gaped at her.

“So it is the same man?”

Her brother nodded then growled. “Looks that way. Think about it, Lia, why pick your cause?”

“Generosity? Maybe he needed a tax write-off. That happens this time of year.” She could tell her brother didn’t put much stock in either possibility. Yesterday she’d thought it was the gesture of a wealthy man more than a little smitten with the gala’s organizer. Now... Well, now he had more than a few questions to answer.

Just her luck. The first guy who managed to stir any feelings in her and he had an ulterior motive.

“This would put him right next to you tomorrow night.”

“You’re being melodramatic.” Truth was she had asked for tomorrow’s seating chart to be adjusted when she learned he would attend. She’d had every intention of getting “next to him” and thanking him personally during their first real date, scheduled for this evening. She wasn’t about to mention those plans in front of her brother and daughter.

“He might not even show up.” She wouldn’t think twice about having him tossed out if he didn’t clear up a few things tonight.

“Oh, he’ll show.” There was a calculating gleam in Thomas’s eyes. “And he’ll find a way to kidnap you. It’s the perfect venue and it would be a terrible embarrassment to me if I’m not there to protect you.”

“That’s absurd. Tomorrow’s venue is perfect for raising money for the charity. Besides, I’ll be surrounded by the trained agents and retired spies who make up our extended family all night long.”

“Then it’s a scouting mission,” Thomas argued. “I’m telling you, Holt doesn’t do anything on a whim. Every mishap of the past two months points directly to his office. This is the beginning of the grand finale. I can feel it, Lia.”

Casey gave a thoughtful hum. “Wouldn’t a guy who’s made it to the second in command at Mission Recovery be more careful than that? Sounds a little half-baked to me.”

Cecelia could have hugged her daughter. She thought the same thing, but knew Thomas wouldn’t have entertained the suggestion if she’d offered it. It wasn’t that she blamed him—he only wanted to protect her—but she was weary of being overshadowed and underestimated.

As the wife of a CIA operative, she’d learned to support and assist her husband in the real world, she had her own security clearance and even though she’d spent her career to date in the completely safe admin side of the agency, she knew how to think through a problem like an operative.

Her daughter’s and her brother’s consistent underrating of her was her own fault, she supposed. She’d let it happen by design and circumstance. They were used to her in a certain role: sister, mother, head chef, cheerleader and most recently caregiver and occasional confidant. Change was difficult, and she hadn’t discussed her plans with them; she’d just put in the request to move to ops.

She’d told herself it was to see how she fared on her own merits, but it was just as much about delaying their inevitable resistance.

“Relax, Thomas. I’m safe and I’m perfectly capable of staying that way.” She infused confidence into her voice. “You’ll both be at the event tomorrow and we’ll be surrounded by a room full of people. Go vet the hotel security staff if it makes you feel better.” She wrote down the contact name from her notes. “Your Mr. Holt can scout all he wants, but we all know he won’t be able to lift a finger against me. At least not and get away with it.”

Thomas took the note and stalked out of the house without another word.

Cecelia turned to Casey. “Well, since you’ve got everything packed, I might as well go check in at the hotel and make Thomas happy.”

“I can move there with you. Keep you company.”

Cecelia bit back the frustrated reply as she loaded the used coffee mugs into the dishwasher. “You stay here like we planned and enjoy some quiet with your new husband when he arrives.” She’d have to put this place up for sale one day, but it didn’t have to be today. The place was just too large for her to keep up on her own. Especially if she was away a lot.

“We came to see you, Mom.”

“And I appreciate it, sweetheart. We both know your uncle’s already assigned a detail to hover over my shoulder.” She flicked a hand in the direction of the street. “I know for a fact the Millers haven’t had a week’s worth of plumbing trouble and yet the van is still out there.”

Casey walked toward the front window to look. “He just wants to keep you safe,” she said with a soft laugh.

“I know that. It’s only a ten-minute drive to the Plaza.” She was already mentally adjusting her plans to give her date a chance to explain himself before Thomas barged in and wrecked it.

Was she that desperate? Maybe.

Whatever Emmett’s reasons for reaching out to her through the online dating site and making the donation, she felt there was potential for a real connection between them. What she didn’t feel was that he posed any threat to her.

Thomas would call that naive. Casey would call it wishful thinking.

She called it intuition, and she’d learned to trust her instincts long ago.

Cecelia was going on that date.

Chapter Three

Mission Recovery Training Center, 3:24 p.m.

Emmett Holt braced his elbows on his knees and caught his breath while he unwound the hand wraps protecting his knuckles from the heavy bag. The sweat dripped from his brow, trickled down his arms. Most days a hard workout cleared his head, but he’d been balanced on the edge for too long.

He recognized the signs, knew the inherent danger, but there was no going back.

Not now. He glanced up at the news ticker scrolling across the bottom of the television screen. No inexplicable illness outbreaks. No one closing in on him here at the gym with weapons drawn and handcuffs ready.

Every hour that passed without incident only amped up his tension.

This game had very real, life-altering consequences. Life ending was more accurate. For the inevitable innocent victims, as well as Isely and his team of instigators who’d launched this frustrating drama.

He crossed the gym and locked his ankles into the inversion table, then eased back. For a long moment, he just let himself hang there, upside down, daring anyone to take a shot.

Neither side would make a move here, not in public. It was the shadows he had to worry about. And those were all around him...every move he made.

Hands fisted, he crossed them over his chest and started the first set of fifty crunches.

He focused on the count, only letting his mind wander once he was relaxed and stretching out the burn.

Isely still had the one thing Holt needed to secure: the last vial of a deadly new virus. And Holt had more of what Isely wanted: damaging information on Director Thomas Casey.

Years ago, Casey had gone undercover in Germany, disrupting an exchange that would have set the Isely crime family at the pinnacle of the black-market weapons business forever.

It was one of those rare, landscape-changing deals, and Mission Recovery had successfully stopped it.

That’s what they did, the whole reason the team existed. God, he was going to miss having that kind of clear purpose in his life.

Holt did a slow-burn second set, then paused to think some more.

He glanced around the gym, and though there were only a few other Specialists around, he felt like they were watching him too closely and with too much wariness lurking behind those neutral expressions. Did they expect him to just lose it with a violent outburst or remorseful confession? Which one of them had been on his tail when he made the drop for Isely?

Months ago he’d have chalked up the wide berth they gave him to being the deputy director. He wasn’t popular with the team. That hadn’t bothered him much before. His management style was simply different from Casey’s, more aloof.

It wasn’t his job to make friends.

But since he’d chosen to take this mission on his own, with no one else read into the situation, he felt the unavoidable onset of mild paranoia. Holt told himself to relax. Even if Casey had started to piece it together, he wouldn’t have shared such a damning theory with the entire team.

Not yet, anyway.

Holt took a deep breath, reminding himself he’d been trained to succeed at all costs. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that his current efforts made him a potential target. That’s how he’d planned it.

He came back to an upright position slowly to avoid the disorienting head rush, then unlocked the ankle bar and moved to an empty weight bench to work on his back.

Everyone thought he was just a suit, sitting in the successor’s chair. Days like this were a clear reminder to the team that his strengths went well beyond pushing paper and signing off on personnel evaluations.

“Sir?”

He recognized his assistant’s voice, as well as her polished black pumps when Nadine stopped in front of him.

He sat upright and pushed a towel across his face. “What is it?”

“Two of the messages you’ve been expecting.”

Holt tossed the towel over his shoulder and accepted the cell phone she handed him. One number was blocked, but the terse text message left no doubt the sender was Isely.

The clock is ticking.

Holt scrolled, switched to the voice mail message with a shake of his head. The world was full of ticking clocks.

The silky feminine voice, definitely a product of a private school, drifted into his ear and eased the tension in his shoulders. “Thank you for the substantial donation, Emmett. We’ve reserved a seat for you at tomorrow’s event. We’re thrilled that you’ll be able to join us so we can personally express our appreciation for your generosity.”

Cecelia. It was exactly the opening Isely had ordered him to create. He smiled, unable to temper his enthusiasm for their date tonight. He struggled to keep it in the appropriate perspective. She was part of the job, but he’d discovered a few layers under the polish that tweaked his curiosity.

After all, despite popular opinion, he was human.

Holt handed the phone back to Nadine. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“No, sir.”

He studied her, but couldn’t be sure if she was lying. It didn’t matter. They both knew she’d cancel her plans if necessary to fulfill his request. “I could use your help in Alexandria.”

“Black tie?”

“No.” So she’d seen his reservations for the weekend. The reservation he wanted her to see anyway. “A few hours of recon.” Isely’s impatience made him nervous. He wanted someone out there he knew he could count on. “I’ll get you the details.”

With a polite nod, Nadine left him to finish his workout.

He powered through the strength routine, Isely’s ticking clock in the back of his mind as he hit the treadmill.

Specialist Blue Callahan, well, Drake now that she was married, stepped onto the machine next to him. Like the others, she’d been handpicked for her post within Mission Recovery and she’d met the man who’d become her husband on an assignment. She had, in fact, been backed up on that mission by none other than the one and only Lucas Camp.

There was no love lost between Holt and Lucas. The older man had a method and when Holt replaced him here at Mission Recovery, he’d developed his own methods. Holt had reason to believe that despite his retirement, Lucas had been poking around in Holt’s professional life. Probably his personal life, too. It was never a good thing to have a man like Camp second-guessing decisions.

Lucas Camp was a master in the business of spying. But he was out to pasture now and he needed to get right with his place in the world of spooks.

Keeping his face in neutral, Holt’s mind spun through the potential pitfalls and traps Blue’s appearance might present to his timeline.

“Deputy Director,” she said, acknowledging him with an easy smile. “Working hard?”

“Always.” He increased the programmed interval workout to the next level. “Big plans for the holidays?” It seemed the question on everyone’s lips this month.

“Not particularly. A party or two, then Noah and I are headed back to the island for a quiet celebration. You have plans?”

“About the same as last year.” That was one detail the team knew for certain about him—he had no family and no inclination to create one.

The glance she slid him held a bit of concern. “If you’re ever in the mood for a warm, quiet beach, you’re welcome to stay in our guesthouse.”

He nodded, unable to come up with a verbal response. Not because of the effort to maintain his pace on the treadmill but because she’d shocked him. No one on the team—other than Thomas Casey—had ever aimed a social invitation in his direction.

Blue looked for all the world like she meant it, but he knew her impeccable field skills and had to consider this approach might be a trap. “I’ll let you know,” he replied.

He got through the rest of his cardio without incident and headed toward the locker room to clean up. Half an hour later, as he walked upstairs in the direction of the solitude of his office, he had to forcibly turn his thoughts away from the likelihood that this might be his last hour in this building.

As Holt entered the suite of offices that included his, Specialist Jason Grant was waiting for him, kicked back with a magazine in one of Nadine’s reception chairs. So much for solitude.

“Grant.”

“Sir,” he said, setting aside the magazine and getting to his feet. “Do you have a minute?”

Holt looked him up and down, recognized the relaxed demeanor of a man fresh from vacation—this time on a honeymoon. Grant was slated to replace him as deputy director when Holt advanced to the director’s post. Assuming of course Holt didn’t die or wind up in prison in the next week or so. “Marriage suits you.”

“Thanks.” Jason rocked back on his heels, pushed his hands into his pockets.

“Come on in.” Holt left the door open as he entered his office, counting on Jason’s choice to close it or leave it open to give him a clue about what might be on the younger man’s mind.

The door closed with a soft click.

Holt took his seat, relieved there wasn’t a weapon in his back or a bullet in his brain just yet. He needed just enough lead time to get through the next forty-eight hours.

Then he’d happily take whatever discipline Mission Recovery wanted to mete out.

He unbuttoned his suit coat and settled into his chair. Jason mirrored his movements, taking the chair across the wide desk.

“What can I do for you, Grant?”

“Just a quick follow up on the Las Vegas operation.”

Anticipation pricked Holt. “That case is closed.”

“I realize I failed you—”

“Relax.” Holt tapped a pencil against the arm of his chair. “My evaluation doesn’t read that way. As far as Mission Recovery is concerned, you did a fine job out there.”

“But—”

“A piece of advice?”

Jason nodded.

“Let it go. There’s nothing to clarify, nothing to be concerned about beyond the holidays and your next mission.”

“Which is?”

Holt forced his lips into a smile. “To enjoy the holidays with your new wife.”

But Jason’s eyebrows were drawn together. “Permission to speak freely?”

Holt dipped his chin. “Of course.” One day, if he didn’t get caught in his own trap, they would need to be completely candid with one another as director and deputy director.

“I don’t think I believe you.”

Holt didn’t move a muscle as more of that anticipation leeched into his veins.

“I’ve gone over it every way possible, sir,” he added with more sarcasm than respect. “That whole business in Vegas felt like a setup.”

“You have good instincts,” Holt admitted. “And I agree with your assessment. If you’re implying I had anything to do with it, I’d ask you to give that a great deal more thought before you say something you’ll regret.”

Jason’s gaze narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. Kudos to the young man. He was going to make a top-notch deputy director.

“I have nothing but respect for you and your talents.” Might as well add a compliment to the ugly truth, Holt thought. He hesitated, could practically hear the figurative ice cracking under his feet as he prepared to share details better kept under wraps. “Ours is a world of secrets, as you know. We have a mole in Mission Recovery. You can only imagine the distress and effort we’ve put into making a solid identification, but the director and I are working to resolve the problem.”

“How can I help?”

“You know Director Casey has a history with Isely. See what your Interpol connections can give us on his operations over there.”

“Anything in particular?”

Holt gave in and sighed. Another lie was hardly going to matter at this point. “I want to pin down the biologist who manufactured this virus Isely has been trying to unload.”

“You think Isely means to manufacture more?”

“It would be one hell of a residual income. Just see what you can turn up.” Holt could only hope the diversion would keep Jason distracted until this God-forsaken mission was over.

When Jason left, Holt addressed the blinking icon that indicated he had another message on his cell. Blocked number.

They know. I have adjusted the timeline accordingly.

No! Holt’s temper nearly boiled over. If Isely used someone else to kidnap Cecelia Manning, Holt would be forced to expose himself to one side or the other before he had the evidence in hand to clear his name and maintain Mission Recovery’s anonymity.

It was impossible. No one here could possibly know. Not yet. Of course Director Casey would have suspicions. He was supposed to have suspicions. Holt had been feeding Isely information very few people could access. But he’d put the breadcrumbs in the system, left enough room for doubt so he could finish the task the right way without jeopardizing too much or laying Mission Recovery bare for the government vultures and rabid media to pick over.

Isely didn’t have the franchise on making adjustments. Holt knew how to scramble, scrap and fight dirty when it was necessary. A few years behind a desk didn’t change the core of a man.

For nearly a year now, he’d let Isely see what he wanted to see, a disgruntled, ambitious second-in-command who resented Casey almost as much as Isely himself. It had been the performance of his life and he wasn’t about to abandon it now when he could almost see the end of these dark days.

Adjustment negates impact, he replied via text on the disposable and untraceable burner phone Isely had provided. Deep down, Holt knew Isely preferred the showy, public embarrassment that kidnapping Cecelia from the gala would provide.

Long minutes passed and Holt mentally composed and deleted at least ten incriminating text messages. If he sent any of them, if he left the director no room for doubt, it would make it damn near impossible to nail Isely before the bastard slipped away to run his operation from a non-extradition country.

Holt had put himself in so many different shoes and looked at this from everyone’s perspective he’d almost lost sight of his own agenda. Protecting Thomas Casey was top priority and preventing the exposure of Mission Recovery was essential. He cringed to think of the careers ruined and lives irreparably disrupted if the worst happened.

Finally, the cell chirped with another text message. Proceed as planned.

He’d been close enough to Isely these past months that he knew his enemy believed this news would bring him relief. He’d portrayed himself to Isely as a man who needed the stability of guidance and a set schedule. But that was the act. Holt knew better than to trust Isely to keep the leash on whoever had been chosen to take over should Holt get caught or falter.

Isely had resources and he used them well. Holt was plan A. There would be a plan B eager to step up and prove their worth in order to gain promotion and prestige within Isely’s operation.

Well, there was one sure way to keep Cecelia safe until Holt could move in on schedule. Holt crossed to his office safe, pulled out an alternate ID and a stack of cash and prepared for his date with the director’s sister.

It was laughable. The stuff of comic tragedies. He was about to prevent a kidnapping by becoming a proper gentleman.

Chapter Four

Old Town Alexandria, 7:12 p.m.

Cecelia turned up the collar on her wool coat for the short walk to meet her friends at their favorite wine bar in Old Town. It was the place they’d brainstormed tomorrow’s gala and it was fitting to celebrate their success with a toast there tonight. The temperature was dropping but the moon was bright overhead, and the crisp winter air cleared her head. She breathed deeply now, knowing in a few days’ time she’d be breathing warm, humid air in the Caymans.

It was no surprise the dark sedan had followed her from the house to the Plaza hotel. When she thought about it, she realized one like it had either been parked at the corner of her block or shadowing her for the past couple of days. She walked on, resisting the urge to tell the driver to go back and report that Director Casey’s sister could take care of herself. She should give Thomas some credit. Clearly he suspected she’d balk at protective custody, and he’d brought the safety measures to her.

She was nearly to the bar when two men approached her. They wore U.S. Navy-issue wool peacoats over jeans and heavy boots, but that was where the resemblance ended. The hair broke regulation, as did the beards. Her first thought was they were longshoremen on leave, but Old Town Alexandria wasn’t exactly a shipping hub.

“Ma’am?” They stopped just in front of her. “Excuse me. Do you know the area?” the taller man asked with a faint trace of a French accent.

Thomas’s warning blasted through her and she told herself it was far too early in her budding ops career for paranoia. Her hands fisted around the car key in her pocket. There was security nearby in the dark sedan, and by now Casey and her new husband were probably watching from a rooftop, and Cecelia was close enough to the bar that she could call for help if necessary.

“Yes,” she replied with a nod, determined to keep an open mind. “What are you trying to find?”

“Do you know the restaurant owned by the retired hockey player?”

She relaxed, releasing her grip on her key. They were French Canadian hockey fans. “Of course.” She gave them directions and wished them a good evening as she entered the wine bar.

Looking around, she realized she was the first to arrive, so she claimed a high-top table near the front window of the swanky little bar and waited for her friends. While she was thrilled with their progress and the news that they’d hit the pre-event fundraising goal, with every passing hour she was losing enthusiasm for the event itself.

Her daughter and brother would attend with their new spouses, and she’d be the lonely, courageous widow.

She rubbed at the fading indentation on her ring finger where her wedding band used to sit. Even after William’s death, she’d worn it, not quite ready to part with it.

After Casey’s wedding in October, she’d had it cleaned and stored it in the safe at the house. Her friends had been supportive and so far her family hadn’t noticed. Or maybe they just hadn’t known what to say. They’d probably been too distracted with news of her career change to notice a change in her jewelry.

Now here she was, intent on meeting a man who could be an enemy of her brother...of her. She was prepared. Cecelia might not carry a handgun in her bag, but she always carried her trusty Taser. She was far from an expert with handguns, but she’d taken the necessary classes for using the Taser.

“Cecelia?”

She swiveled toward the deep voice she recognized from a few phone calls. The polite smile she always wore in public slipped a little when she met the intense, gray-blue gaze of the man who’d approached her table.

Danger was her first thought, with delicious chasing right behind it. His picture on the dating profile hadn’t been doctored. And it hadn’t done him justice. Those eyes, so cool and clear, were framed by the stark contrast of slashing dark eyebrows, thick dark hair and chiseled features.

His mouth tilted up at one corner. “Emmett Holt.” He extended a hand. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

“Not at all, Mr. Holt.” She struggled to remember to breathe. To remember her brother suspected him of a terrible betrayal. Instead, all his wit and charm in their previous online conversations danced through her mind. “A pleasure,” she managed. Please let him be one of the good guys. It would be so unfair to wind up with a shark on her first dive back into the dating pool.

The upturned corner widened into a full-blown smile and his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. She barely stifled an admiring sigh. “Forgive me,” she said, searching for her composure. “Did I get the time wrong?”

According to her calendar, they were meeting at eight, after her toast with her friends. She had the sudden, bizarre urge to keep him all to herself. Dating was going to be enough of a shock, but dating a man who looked like this? Tomorrow night would be soon enough to show him off. She felt flushed in a way she’d almost forgotten about.

“Not at all. I got to town early. Planned to have a drink to settle my nerves before you arrived.” He leaned closer. “Dare I hope you’re here for the same reason?”

She shook her head, feeling a goofy grin fighting for control of her face. “I’m meeting friends. A last-minute review for tomorrow’s event.”

“Ah.” He looked around. “Smart planning.”

“I tend to do that.”

That half smile was back. “Just as you stated in your profile.” He winked. “I’ll just wait over there at the bar until it’s my turn.”

The way he said that launched a swarm of butterflies in her belly.

“Wait. Your generosity...” She trailed off, searching for words as a surge of unexpected emotion swamped her. “Well, we thank you.”

“It’s a good cause,” he replied. “I’ll be waiting at the bar.”

She watched him walk away—drinking in the way his trousers fit his backside, like a woman too long stranded in the desert. Abruptly she realized he might catch her foolish behavior in the reflection of the mirror behind the bar.

She specifically made the effort not to check if he’d caught her staring, instead turning her gaze back toward the door. Her willpower was rewarded as her friends came in together in a rush of cold air and happy voices. They raised a glass to success, double-checked every last-minute detail, right down to their personal shoe selections, and then parted company until tomorrow.

Half an hour had never seemed to drag more. Which was a terrible thing to be thinking. These were friends she had enjoyed for years. Friends who’d carried her through all stages of motherhood, a few lonely anniversaries and eventually her husband’s diagnosis and decline.

Cecelia pushed all of that to the back of her mind. That was the past. Her future was waiting for her on the other side of the holiday season. And oh, my, her present was right there watching her from the end of the bar. With her purse and wool coat over her arm, she squeezed through the growing crowd to join Emmett Holt.

“Hi.” Reminding herself she couldn’t be certain about his motives and discovering her intuition was blurred by her shocking attraction to him, she didn’t know how else to start. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Not a problem,” he said, offering her his seat. “I enjoyed the view. Would you like another glass of wine?”

“Just water, please.” She didn’t think alcohol would help her manage her fascination and she needed to focus if she was going to get some straight answers out of him.

He signaled the bartender, and she had a tall glass of water with a wedge of lemon within seconds. The bartender leaned close. “How are things going, Cecelia?”

“Great. Thanks, Ted.”

Ted glanced at Emmett and then back to her. “Do you and the ladies have everything all set for tomorrow night?”

“Definitely.”

“Glad to hear it.” He moved on down the bar to serve the next customer.

“A friend of yours?”

She glanced at Emmett while she sipped her water, letting the cool liquid soothe her dry throat. He looked a little perturbed with the bartender’s familiarity. Was he jealous, or did he see a potential interference with his kidnapping plan? Her intuition couldn’t pin it down. Granted, she hadn’t tried dating since her husband died and she didn’t know if this was business or pleasure yet—only that part of her was seriously hoping for the latter.

“My friends and I meet here almost every week,” she explained. “You work in DC. Surely this isn’t your first trip to Alexandria.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Well, that was less than enlightening. She tried a different tack. “Is there a particular area or way you’d like us to use your donation?”

He smiled, slowly, and though it was hard to tell in this light she thought maybe he blushed a bit. “No. You’re free to use the money how you see fit.”

“Okay.” She watched him carefully, searching out any clues to his intention with her. But watching him carefully meant taking in the details. He oozed confidence and he obviously worked out. He was trim without being skinny and if his forearms were any indication, his biceps and shoulders would be beautifully sculpted.

He angled his body, effectively sheltering her from the crowded room and making this public encounter suddenly feel a lot more private.

Her heart rate fluttered, but with awareness rather than a more appropriate concern. He was close enough she recognized the citrus and cedar notes of his cologne. Her husband had preferred—she cut off the thought. That was then. This moment, this evening, was all that mattered right now.

Live your life.

But something else about Emmett reminded her of her husband and her brother. She’d been around the type long enough she would have picked up on it even without Thomas’s warning this afternoon. Emmett gave the appearance of being focused on her, but he was surreptitiously inventorying their surroundings and the people coming and going around them.

She’d caught her daughter doing the same thing more than once since Casey started working in ops. Situational awareness was a skill taught to field agents in the CIA as well as any other number of agencies. If she’d asked him, she knew he could give her an accurate description of everyone in the room and the best way out if any trouble cropped up.

He was definitely one of her brother’s Specialists, and the last shred of hope she’d clung to that their meeting online had been a coincidence dwindled to zero. She needed a plan, needed to get to the bottom of his motives before she wound up used—or worse.

The man might have a generous streak, but it didn’t require an active intuition to see there was more under the charming surface. “It was a pleasure to meet you, but maybe this isn’t the best night for dinner. Let’s talk more tomorrow at the gala.” She slid off the stool just as someone behind him shifted, and she found herself pressed tight against his warm, hard body.

Speaking of situational awareness... She looked up at him, captivated by the cool gaze that only increased her body temperature.

“Why don’t we go somewhere less crowded?”

Yes! “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” She inched away from him, fighting the overwhelming urge to get closer. “As generous as you are, we’re scarcely more than strangers.”

“I made a reservation for us at that steak house down the street.”

The crowd shifted again, and this time he braced to keep from bumping into her. She was outrageously disappointed.

“Come on.” He smiled and her heart jolted. “Let’s share an appetizer and then you can decide if dinner is an option.”

She felt herself nodding an agreement before she could voice a reasonable excuse.

He took her coat from her grasp and held it for her, straightening the collar and smoothing his hands over her shoulders. He retrieved his coat—a supple leather bomber-style jacket—from the hook just under the bar top.

He gestured for her to go first, and when she checked the reflection, she saw his eyes weren’t on her, but the crowd around them. Something wasn’t quite right. Was he protecting her or preparing to snatch her away?

Oh, she had to get her brother’s voice out of her head so she could find her own way through this situation. She pushed through the door to the street and turned to just ask him outright, but another of his smiles completely derailed her train of thought.

“Is it always so crowded in there? It’s a wine bar.”

His beleaguered expression earned her sympathy. Apparently the profile notation that said he didn’t like crowds was truthful. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she said, “It’s a popular wine bar. And every place is busier since we’re closing in on Christmas.” She gestured to indicate the white lights and holiday color dressing up the Old Town district of Alexandria.

“Fair point,” he agreed, falling into step beside her.

“Was the holiday spirit what moved you to make that donation?”

His lips twitched and he ducked his head to avoid a low-hanging strand of white lights. “In part. I’m not typically one for the holiday spirit. Mostly it was you. After we met online, I poked around and found that video your organization posted. Who could resist?”

Plenty of people in this economy, she’d discovered. “What is it that you do, Mr. Holt?”

“You call me Emmett online,” he reminded her.

His low voice sent a ripple of anticipation across her skin. “Emmett,” she repeated, like a besotted schoolgirl.

“I’m in private security.”

She turned her gaze toward the street, hiding her unjustified disappointment. Even if their online flirtation was genuine, she knew he wouldn’t have told her what he really did and who he really worked for. It would have been a breach of security at this stage. Even as the director’s sister, she wouldn’t know Mission Recovery existed if she hadn’t been married to a man like William. She told herself it was too soon to have any opinion on situations that fell into the delicate area of security clearances.

Still, she needed to know if he was here as friend or foe. “Ah, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

She shrugged. “The way you scout a room and keep track of people. Don’t worry. It’s not obvious to most women.”

He gave her an arch look.

“I have relatives who are also in security-related jobs. Par for the course this close to DC,” she added, wishing he’d take the bait and elaborate. Wishing she had the courage to demand clarification. It felt so uneven to be this attracted to a virtual stranger without any idea if his responses were sincere. It was an odd sensation to realize someday in the field someone would look at her and wonder the same thing.

“It’s a habit we all develop, I suppose.”

“A matter of survival,” she agreed. “Or so they tell me.” Come January she’d be getting the training firsthand. No more inferring from the vague references her family made. It was an exciting thought, and she grinned with anticipation.

“Now, that’s quite a look, Mrs. Manning.”

“Cecelia,” she corrected. “I’m changing jobs after the holidays and whenever I think about it, I get excited.”

“What type of change?” He pulled open the door of the restaurant and she stepped into the dim alcove.

“Just something more active.” If he could hedge, so could she. It was good practice, anyway. “My company had openings in another department. All the recent charity endeavors made me realize I’m ready to get out from behind a desk.”

He gave his name to the hostess and they were seated immediately. “What have you been doing?” he asked when they were settled in a cozy corner booth.

“I focus on basic administration for the human resources department. It’s utterly boring, sifting through the same documents day in and day out. The job served its purpose while our daughter was growing up, but I’m ready to branch out now.”

“You seem eager to try something new.”

“Precisely.” A man as perceptive as Emmett had probably already noticed that her hormones were willing to start that something new with him at the first opportunity.

The waiter came by with water and offered the evening’s specials. They ordered drinks and the sampler of appetizers and Cecelia returned to her task of trying to unravel Emmett’s motives.

“How long will you be in town?”

“Probably just through the weekend.”

“Probably?” she echoed. Where had her conversational skills gone? He’d been trained to divert the curiosity she was so clearly showing, but she could do better.

“I’m really just here for you. For the gala,” he added as though it was an afterthought. “Haven’t had much cause to pull out the penguin suit lately, figured I should enjoy it. After that, it’s back to work.”

“In DC?”

“Same as everyone else in this area,” he said with that half smile that made her want to sigh.

She agreed with a nod. “You won’t take time off for the holidays?” Before her brother’s announcement this afternoon, she’d been determined to boldly invite him to join her on a beach in the Caymans in a few days’ time.

“Someone has to keep the office running. All the other guys have family.” He shrugged. “I volunteer to stick around on holidays and put out the occasional fire so they don’t have to.”

“That’s thoughtful of you.”

One shoulder hitched in a casual shrug. “When you have kids, you should be there for them.”

“That was my philosophy.”

But now it was her turn to do something solely for herself... The problem was, this part may have been a mistake.

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