Her past will haunt both of them.

Gennie Fox’s first assignment for ARC Security is straightforward. Then her traitorous ex-fiancé shows up, a guest is murdered and her boss—former SEAL Noah Sheridan—gets caught in the cross fire of the case. Noah trusts the coolheaded army vet to help get to the truth, but is Gennie’s past wreaking havoc on what’s growing between them...or is something more sinister at work?

CASSIE MILES, a USA TODAY bestselling author, lives in Colorado. After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Mills & Boon Heroes books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanic Gardens near her high-rise home.

Also by Cassie Miles

Mountain Midwife

Sovereign Sheriff

Baby Battalion

Unforgettable

Midwife Cover

Mummy Midwife

Montana Midwife

Hostage Midwife

Mountain Heiress

Snowed In

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Final Secret

Cassie Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90495-1

THE FINAL SECRET

© 2020 Kay Bergstrom

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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To Zinj, my latest feline grandson, and,

as always, to Rick.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Her mission was clear: rescue the hostage.

Gennie Fox wasn’t exactly sure how she’d accomplish the task but needed to act fast. According to her information, her backup was due to arrive in less than fifteen minutes, but she shouldn’t count on them. Her background info indicated that they couldn’t be trusted. She needed to rescue the asset before anybody else showed up. And the clock was ticking down.

She made her approach, creeping through the forested hillside outside an isolated two-story mountain cabin with a cedar deck jutting from the south end. Late afternoon sunlight glistened on patches of spring snow that had mostly melted and left the ground muddy. With her back pressed against the rough trunk of a Ponderosa pine, she observed. Two armed guards patrolled the perimeter of the property. She suspected there were others inside.

If she’d had access to a heat-sensing scanner, she would have known whether the hostage was being held upstairs or on the lower level. The scanner wasn’t her only lack. She had no binoculars, no auditory surveillance devices and her assault gear left much to be desired. The eight-inch double-edged blade in a sheath attached to her belt was good for silent combat, but the handgun she’d been given was clumsy and untrustworthy. Gennie preferred a fifteen-round Beretta similar to the weapon she’d carried on patrol in Afghanistan.

Her unpreparedness extended to her clothing. She’d expected to be meeting for brunch at a trendy spot in the Highlands area of Denver and had dressed in a black leather jacket, olive green silk blouse, black slacks and lace-up sandals with two-inch heels. For this one-woman assault, she should have been wearing head-to-toe camo and steel-toed Dr. Martens.

When one of the guards peered in her direction, her adrenaline spiked. She ducked behind the tree, hoping that her black outfit would blend into the shadows. Her blond hair was covered by a green patterned scarf, and she’d turned up her collar to hide her face. Only her blue eyes stood out. She squinted and watched as the guard turned his head and moved away.

For the moment, she was safe. But she couldn’t just stand here, waiting to be caught. She’d signed on to play this game, and she intended to win.

Holding the gun in her left hand, she drew her knife with the right. Mentally, she mapped her route to the house. Guards had been coming and going on the deck, which meant the sliding glass doors probably weren’t locked. But the approach to that entrance offered little cover, and she wanted to stay hidden as long as possible. Bent over, she dashed from the forested area toward a clump of trees nearer to the front door.

Halfway, her sandals skidded on the mud, and she sprawled. Her quick reflexes compensated for her clumsiness. She sprang into a crouch, froze like a statue and checked to make sure the guards hadn’t seen her. Then she ran. Her left ankle stiffened. She was injured. No time to worry about it now.

At the house she peeked through a window beside the front door, didn’t see a guard. The door was locked, which was what she’d expected. She had a lock pick attached to her key chain and knew how to use it. In mere seconds, the doorknob twisted easily in her hand.

Inside the entryway she scoped out the spacious room with a natural stone fireplace at one end, a hall leading in the direction of the deck on the other and a staircase directly across from the entry. A guard appeared in the doorway from the hall. He looked surprised to see her, and she took advantage. Before he could raise his weapon, she pounced and slashed her blade across his throat. He fell. Take his rifle? She decided against it. Her handgun was better for fighting in close quarters.

Killing the guard had been necessary. He’d been in the way, and she needed to succeed in this mission. Upstairs or down? Trusting her instincts, she rushed to the staircase and ascended to the second floor where she expected to find bedrooms. The upstairs would be easier to defend than what she assumed was a more open floorplan on the lower level.

Directly across from the landing, she confronted a closed door. Was the hostage being held in that room? The other doors on both sides of the long corridor stood open with the exception of the door at the very end.

At the closed door, she pressed her ear against the wood and listened. From inside, she heard a drawer being closed, then a shuffling noise and the thud of heavy boots walking across the floor. Coming closer to her? She jumped back as the door swung open. A guy in a guard uniform raised his arm at right angles to his body and fired at her. He missed. Her aim was more accurate. Two direct hits. The center of his chest turned bright red. He crumpled to the floor.

The gunshots had alerted the other guards. From downstairs, she heard their shouts. Her best guess for the location of the hostage was the closed door at the end of the hall. As she sprinted toward it, a red-haired maid in a pink smock stepped through one of the open doors, holding a stack of folded linens. She gave a shriek and threw up her hands. No weapon. Not a threat. Gennie pushed her back and told her to take cover.

At the closed door, she tried the handle. Locked! No time for finesse, she crashed through, using her shoulder as a battering ram. Tomorrow, she’d have a bruise, but the injury was worth it if she completed her mission. She pushed the door closed behind her. After slipping her knife into the sheath, she held her gun with both hands for stability as she scanned the large room—a well-equipped home gym with a wall of windows and a wide balcony.

A tall lean man wearing knee-length shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt jogged on a treadmill, moving in time to music that must have been playing on his wireless headphones. His back was toward her. When he turned his head, she recognized his profile.

Without lowering her handgun, she approached. “Noah Sheridan.”

With a glance in her direction, he stepped off the treadmill, removed his headphones and rubbed his hand across his close-cropped dark brown hair. “Good timing, Captain Genevieve Fox. The van carrying your backup is pulling into the driveway.”

She braced herself, expecting a twist at the last minute. “Are you the hostage?”

“Who else would I be?”

He came toward her with his hand extended as though to offer congratulations. But he hadn’t followed the script. The information she’d been given stated that the hostage would introduce him or herself by saying, Take my hand and set me free.

Waiting for him to say those code words, she hesitated. Big mistake! He made the first move. A chop on her wrist, and she dropped her handgun. Before she could pull her knife from the sheath, he spun her around and swept her legs out from under her.

He could have ended her mission then and there. Her gun was within his grasp. His dark eyes blazed with excitement. She could tell that he wanted a fight, wanted to show her who was the boss. Not going to happen. Sure, he had the physical advantage. But she had the intense determination of ten combat-ready soldiers.

The door whipped open. The other guards arrived.

“Back off,” Noah shouted to them. “I’ve got this.”

Bite me! She scrambled to her feet, never taking her focus off Noah. If she subdued him, she had the advantage. Noah was the boss. The guards had to obey his orders.

When he grabbed her, she rolled backward, using his momentum to throw him off-balance. Regaining her feet, she thrust out her injured left leg as an obstacle. He tripped and fell to the ground. Avoiding his grasp, she went down on her knees behind him where she got him in a chokehold, pulled her knife and held it in front of his dark eyes.

He flicked the tip of the rubber blade. “I’ve got one thing to say.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re hired.”

The bodyguards, including those she had supposedly killed, swarmed into the home gym, applauding and hooting their approval. She counted five men and one woman—the non-threatening redhead who had been carrying a stack of folded sheets.

Noah pushed her rubber knife out of the way and stood. “How did you like our Rocky Mountain version of Hogan’s Alley?”

Though she’d trained at Quantico, Gennie had never gone through the original Hogan’s Alley—a famed FBI simulator exercise where actors and other agents took on the roles of villains and innocent bystanders. But she’d played the video game where thugs popped out from behind bushes and a nanny with a baby carriage was in the mix.

“To tell the truth,” she said, “I wasn’t expecting this kind of workout at my first job interview for ARC Security.”

“That’s the point. If you decide to join us, you need to be ready for action at any time and in any circumstance.”

He took her hand and helped her to her feet in a gesture that might have been designed to make her think he was a gentleman. Most definitely, he was not. The fire in his eyes told her that Noah had enjoyed their hand-to-hand combat. He was competitive, and she had no doubt that if he’d thwarted her assault, he would have relished the victory.

She straightened her shoulders, pulled the scarf off her neck and ran her fingers through her chin-length blond hair in a futile attempt at grooming. Technically, he’d said that she was hired but she wouldn’t feel comfortable until she signed a contract. Her confidence had taken a hit when she’d belly flopped into the dirt outside the house and ruined her silk blouse. Her injured ankle was another problem.

The fake guards surrounded her, offering congratulations and words of welcome. The lone woman among them had taken off her pink housemaid’s smock. Her sleeveless top showed tanned well-toned arms. With that level of fitness, she was probably a field agent, and Gennie was glad. For much of her life, she’d been in situations where women weren’t an equal part of the equation. From military engineering courses at Texas A&M to boot camp to two and a half tours of duty, she seemed to be always proving herself against a male standard.

The ARC crew seemed friendly, especially the guards she’d “killed” with her rubber knife and paintball gun. A handsome guy with a killer smile introduced himself as Tony Vega. “I’m the thug you knifed in the entryway. How’d you get inside so fast?”

“Picked the lock.”

“Nice move.” When he bobbed his head, he reminded Gennie of her younger brother. “You got skills.”

“But I failed the mission,” she said. “I didn’t rescue the hostage.”

“Because there was no hostage,” Tony said.

Noah explained, “This scenario was an ambush, designed to capture you. The information we gave you hinted that you couldn’t trust your own people. When I attacked, your instincts kicked in. You overwhelmed me but didn’t kill me. Smart move. You could use me as a bargaining chip when my men came into the room.”

“Is this the usual exercise?” she asked.

“We change it every time,” the woman said. “Otherwise, we’d get bored.”

“And we’re all grateful,” Tony added, “that you went upstairs instead of charging into the kitchen and messing up the barbecue we’ve got planned. Hungry?”

Noah interrupted. “The rest of you go downstairs. I’ve got some paperwork for Gennie.”

Smiling, she watched them leave. Their friendly camaraderie reminded her of her platoon in Afghanistan, which was what she’d expected when she applied at ARC Security, also known as Noah’s ARC. They mostly hired ex-military personnel and had a stellar reputation as bodyguards, crime solvers and bounty hunters, as well as the original ARC Security Division that dealt with computers and cyber-crime.

“Come with me,” Noah said.

She followed him down the hall, walking carefully on her injured ankle. He held open the door to the first room on the landing where she had encountered a guard. The space was furnished with bookshelves, cabinets, a desk and several computer screens.

“An office,” she said.

“This is actually my house,” he explained. “The location is convenient, less than an hour out of Denver. When I’m in town, I have a condo.”

“You don’t mind messing up this house playing war games with paintball splatter?”

“Bachelor,” he said as if that explained everything. He gestured to a long sofa at the base of the bookcases. “I have a few questions for you.”

Gingerly, she lowered herself onto the clean-line sofa. “I’m still hired, right?”

“I want you working for us. As soon as I saw your résumé, I knew you had the right stuff. You worked security in Kabul in Afghanistan, is that right?”

“Only occasionally,” she said. There were times when they’d wanted a woman as a bodyguard, and she’d been available. “Between my tours of duty, I trained at Quantico.”

“You have contacts in the FBI and the army,” he said. “That’s a plus. Several of our contracts are with the military and government officials. You’ll fit well into ARC. There’s only one formality left. You need to take a physical.”

She’d been dreading this moment. “I can provide a document from my private doctor saying that I’m fit for duty.”

“Tell me why you left the army, Gennie.”

“I was a captain in Afghanistan, working with the Army Corps of Engineers. We were constructing a school in a remote village when we accidentally set off an explosive device.” Though she’d told this story a hundred times, the words still triggered a rage deep inside. Her work crew had been betrayed. They never found out who was responsible for the bomb, but she blamed herself. She should have known better, should have made smarter decisions. Because she’d been careless, four friends had been killed in that explosion. And she would never stop being angry. “I was injured and evacuated.”

Noah handed her a bottle of water from a mini-fridge beside the desk. “Do you know a former security contractor named Kenneth Warrick?”

“Yes.” Hoping that he’d drop the subject, she took a long drink from the water bottle.

But Noah wasn’t the sort of guy who gave up easily. “Tell me about him.”

“A private contractor and weapons dealer, he was questioned regarding the explosion that killed my team. More than anyone else, he knew our schedule and our plans. I hate to think that he betrayed my crew.”

“He wasn’t charged.”

And it wasn’t the first time that Warrick smooth talked his way out of trouble. “The investigation concluded that a local warlord was responsible.”

“You and Warrick were close.”

So close that they’d discussed marriage. She would never allow herself to be that vulnerable again. “I was stupid.”

He lowered himself into the chair beside the sofa. His gaze dropped, and he stared at her feet. Though she tried not to look down, she glanced. Her slacks were hiked up, and she could see her discolored ankle. The swollen flesh bulged over the top strap of her sandal.

“One of the guys downstairs is a medic,” Noah said. “He could take a look at your injury.”

“It’s only a sprain.”

“How do you know?”

She’d had enough broken bones to know when she had one. “I’ve been putting weight on my leg and it hasn’t buckled. If I get the injury iced and wrapped with a bandage, I’ll be fine.”

“I have an assignment for you on Saturday,” he said. “If you’re not one hundred percent by then, I need to know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, I want the rest of your story. Three years ago, you were injured in Afghanistan. According to the medical report, you had several broken bones and a concussion.”

“That’s correct.”

“I don’t need to know the medical procedures you’ve undergone, but I want the results. You have a disability.”

Due to the concussion, damaged bones, a hematoma and extensive nerve damage, her left upper arm and certain muscles in both legs were numb. Ongoing programs of therapy and workouts had improved her condition. She passed her fitness tests with high marks, but there was one problem...not a problem, really, an anomaly.

She lifted her chin and confronted him directly. “In about thirty percent of my body, I can’t feel pain.”

Chapter Two

“Noah, are you sure it isn’t too soon to have Gennie in the field?”

“I’m positive.” He stared at the face on his cell phone’s screen. Today, Anna Rose Claymore—the founder of ARC Security—wore her blue-streaked hair twisted in a bun atop her head. Her huge glasses had blue-and-pink-polka-dot frames. She looked several years too young to be the grandma of four—a phenomenon she attributed to being a full-fledged, dedicated nerd.

“Gennie Fox joined us only four days ago.”

“You don’t usually pay so much attention to field operations,” he said. Anna Rose ran the cyber-crime division and generally stayed at her multiscreen array of computers. “What’s up?”

“Gennie’s condition fascinates me. She’s like a comic book heroine whose superpower is being invulnerable to pain.”

“And I’d advise you to never tell her that. She’s not the type of woman who’d be complimented by a starring role in a comic.”

“Ah, well, I guess that’s my dream,” Anna Rose said. “Is Gennie’s sprain healed?”

“She’s keeping her ankle wrapped, but our doctor gave her an okay for full activity. Yesterday, I saw her running on the treadmill without a limp. She’s done well at every test we’ve come up with. Her marksmanship ranks at an expert level. She excels in hand-to-hand combat, and she understands our electronic equipment. Her greatest skill—one that can’t be measured—is her ability to work well with the others on the team.”

“Like I’ve said before, I approve of your decision to hire her. Gennie is remarkable and has contacts with people who might hire us.”

He heard an unusual sour note in her voice. “What’s troubling you?”

“It’s not about Gennie.” Above her glasses, her forehead scrunched with worry. “There’s something off about this fund-raising event at General Haymarket’s mansion. Why did he request a sweep of his house and grounds looking for explosives? He wants a metal scanner and ordered extra agents, including a sniper on the roof. Has our favorite general taken a deep dive into the paranoia pond?”

“I hope he’s not losing it. He sends a lot of business our way.”

“Send me a revised guest list,” she said. “I’ll check backgrounds and look for clues.”

“Consider it done.”

Noah ended the call and stepped back to watch as Gennie and other ARC field agents performed the pre-event security check at this palatial home southwest of Denver. The guest list that Anna Rose wanted would include the names of billionaires, high-ranking military personnel and influential executives. They’d allocated a good chunk of change for the privilege of attending this political event and were scheduled to start arriving in about an hour. During the silent auction, they’d drink artisan beer and whiskey from a local distillery. In keeping with the “Buy Colorado” theme, this elite group would chow down on stuffed mushrooms, venison, rattlesnake canapés and other regionally sourced delicacies arrayed on buffet tables.

Noah would have preferred a sit-down dinner where his team could easily keep an eye on the two hundred or so attendees. Instead, ARC needed to prepare for a roomful of Type-A personalities, accompanied by their equally aggressive spouses, all of whom would be competing in the auction, stating political views and matching wits. Even if there was no gunplay or exploding bombs, so much could go wrong.

For a moment, the red-and-gold glow of sunset flashed outside the west windows and distracted him. Beautiful and dangerous, the brilliant April skies were an omen that hinted at the onset of fire season. Instead of considering the potential for disaster, he focused on Gennie, noting her confident manner as she glided among the small circular tables in the center of the high-ceilinged, marble-floored ballroom. Her injured ankle didn’t seem to bother her, and he figured she was wearing a compression wrap under her ankle-high boots that were low-heeled but classy. She looked like a million bucks in a form-hugging black jumpsuit and a patterned black-and-beige cashmere vest that was long enough to cover her holstered weapon.

She paused in her inspection of the tables. With a toss of her head that sent a ripple through her curly blond hair, she glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze. He nodded in her direction and reminded himself to keep a careful distance from this woman who was as beautiful as a Rocky Mountain sunset. Another harbinger of danger! Getting involved with an employee would be a seriously dumb decision, but there was no harm in scrutinizing her every move. That was his job.

From over his shoulder, he heard a gruff voice. “I never expected to see Captain Genevieve Fox in my home.”

“General Haymarket.” Noah shook hands with the vigorous older gentleman who was hosting this event. Haymarket was dressed in slacks and a striped golf shirt that stretched tightly across his barrel chest. He looked comfortable. The casual outfit suited him better than the dress uniform he’d be changing into before the event. Whether or not he was paranoid, this four-star general had paid his dues and put in his time. He was due for retirement.

“Did Gennie use me for a reference?” he asked.

“No, sir, she didn’t.”

“Are you aware that I have a history with her?”

She’d spoken to him about her complicated relationship with her former commanding officer. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not on my end, but she’s not real fond of me. The last time we spoke, she called me a bald-headed male chauvinist baboon. With all due respect, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I hate baboons.” The general scowled. “She was mad because I wouldn’t approve her return to active duty. After the bomb, she looked like hell. I couldn’t allow her to put herself in harm’s way, couldn’t stand to see her hurt again.”

“She’s made a successful recovery,” Noah said. A remarkable woman.

“You don’t have a problem with her special condition?”

He didn’t intend to say too much about Gennie’s insensitivity to pain and her nerve damage. If she wanted to talk about her two years of operations, hard work and physical therapy with the general, that was her business. “The ARC doctor gave her a complete physical and rated her above average.”

At the opposite end of the room, Gennie was paying particular attention to the floral arrangement beside the podium where the guest of honor, Mitch Murano, would be speaking. She leaned close to the thick green foliage, yellow flowers and dark red roses. Pulling back, she scowled at the posies as though they’d done something wrong. From there, she went to the silent auction tables where a variety of items were lined up side by side. Again, she inspected the flowers. She straightened her shoulders and made a beeline for him and the general.

The burly general who had commanded thousands of troops in Iraq and Afghanistan gave a shudder. “Do you think she’s still angry?”

“You’re not scared of her, are you, General?”

“Don’t let those big blue eyes fool you. Pretty little Gennie is lethal. A few years ago, I saw her take down a trained combatant twice her size using only a broom handle for a weapon.”

“I’m aware,” Noah said. “Four days ago, she kicked my ass.”

When she came to a halt in front of them, she raised her right hand so quickly that he thought for a moment that she was going to salute, even though the general wasn’t in uniform and she was no longer a soldier. Or maybe she was going for a karate chop. Instead, she opted for a civilized handshake and a tentative smile.

“A pleasure to see you, sir.”

“Likewise,” he said. “Noah tells me that you’re working for him.”

“I am. And I have a security question about the floral displays. Should I speak to you about my concerns?”

“Not me. I don’t know a damn thing about the decorations.”

“Your wife?”

“Ruby didn’t have anything to do with tonight. She’s not even going to be here.”

His wife’s absence seemed odd to Noah. The spectacularly beautiful Ruby Haymarket usually grabbed any chance to break out the tiara and be the belle of the ball.

“I’ll miss her,” Gennie said. “I hope she’s not ill.”

“Fit as a fiddle and feisty, too. Her problem is that she doesn’t share my political views. I believe Mitch Murano will make a damn fine senator. Ruby thinks he’s a con man.”

The general’s wife had a point. In Noah’s opinion, Murano had perfected the art of playing both sides against each other. While vigorously supporting gun rights, Murano ran a worldwide institute encouraging peaceful meditation and enlightenment. His detractors referred to his seesaw policies as NRA Namaste.

The general signaled to a man with a clipboard. “You remember Captain Dean Slocum, don’t you? He handled the food and decorations for this fund-raiser.”

Slocum strutted toward them. His uniform was crisp. His grooming was perfect with his close-cropped pale blond hair as smooth as a platinum skull cap. He was so white that he was nearly albino. In the midst of bustling caterers and waiters making last minute preparations, Slocum appeared to be in control. He’d been the general’s right-hand man for a long time and had grown smug in his job.

His sneering attitude wasn’t the only reason Noah disliked the captain. After he shook Slocum’s hand, he started to introduce Gennie.

“We’re acquainted,” she said coldly.

“I’ve known her for years.” Slocum matched her coolness with an ice storm of his own. “Gennie’s a hero and has the Purple Heart to prove it.”

She flinched. Though she didn’t feel pain in a third of her body, Noah could see that her memories of combat and working in a war zone still hurt. The nightmares and the guilt were harder to cure than physical impairments.

The general spoke to the captain. “Gennie has questions about the flowers, and I told her to ask you about them.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Gennie, I hope we can talk later.” He backed out of the conversation. “Right now, I’d better run upstairs and get changed.”

“Give Ruby my regards,” she said with a smile that faded as she turned back to Slocum. “When you ordered the arrangements, did you specify colors or types of flowers?”

“No.” With the general gone, Slocum didn’t bother to hide his hostility. His blue eyes narrowed to slits in his colorless face. “I told them that the flowers were for a fund-raiser and gave them the size and number of the arrangements. When I mentioned Mitch Murano, the flower people were thrilled. He’s a celebrity. I hope he brings his supermodel girlfriend. Have you ever seen her?”

“I don’t know who she is or what she looks like,” Gennie said.

“Of course not. It’s obvious that you aren’t interested in fashion. My question is, why the hell are you making trouble?”

“About the flowers,” she said, “you didn’t request yellow oleander, pink rhododendron and hemlock branches. Is that correct?”

“I already said I didn’t.” He flipped through his clipboard, made a note and tore off a scrap of paper, which he tossed to her. “This is the florist. If you need more details, call them.”

“I will.” She pulled out her cell phone and stepped aside.

Slocum pivoted on his heel so he was facing toward Noah again. “You need to keep your people in line, and I’m not just talking about Gennie. I have a problem with your man at the front entrance.”

Shrugging off his irritation with Slocum’s tone, Noah remained professional. “Which man at the entrance?”

“The pretty boy, he said his name was Tony Vega and claimed that his orders were to set up a metal detector. That’s a waste of time. Some of the people coming to this event are military and could be in full dress uniform, possibly including sabers. Others are ranchers who routinely carry guns. These are rich men, powerful men, and they won’t give a damn if they set off a beeper. No way will they surrender their weapons.”

Providing security for people who refused to disarm made Noah’s job more difficult, but he wasn’t responsible for this particular scan. “Talk to the general about disarming his guests. He specifically asked for the metal detector.”

“And I’m telling you to take it down.”

Seriously? This pencil-neck geek thought he could overrule the general? “I won’t do it without written authorization to change the terms of our contract.”

“Fine.” He flipped to a blank page on his clipboard and started writing.

“What’s the deal with this event?” In normal circumstances, Noah would have covered this fund-raiser with five or six operatives, but the general requested twelve, including outdoor surveillance. “Is there something we need to be aware of? Have you received threats?”

“Not your problem, Noah.”

The hell it wasn’t. Managing the danger level was the very definition of protective security. “I’ll take this up with the general.”

“Wait!” Slocum caught his arm before he could leave. “Several people—including a blond anchor on TV—are mad at Murano. He’s had a dozen or so threats from people who are unhappy with those screwball meditation classes he teaches.”

“And?”

“The threats were neutralized.”

Noah didn’t like the sound of that. Slocum was talking like an evil James Bond villain. “Neutralized how?”

“His people took care of it. Talk to them.”

The entourage for Mitch Murano included bodyguards and advisors. “How many of them are there?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Slocum tore the sheet of paper off his clipboard. “This note instructs you to take down the metal detectors. I signed it, dated it and will take responsibility.”

“I intend to inform the general of the change in contract.”

“You do that.” He pivoted and made a quick exit.

Gladly, Noah returned to Gennie. He didn’t understand her problem with the flowers, but when she had mentioned hemlock, it caught his attention.

She ended her phone call and frowned at him. “You didn’t tell me everything about this assignment.”

His patience was running thin after the snippy conversation with Slocum, and he didn’t like her insinuation that he was somehow trying to trick her. “You know everything you need to know.”

“I wasn’t aware that information was on a need-to-know basis.”

He was not going to get into an argument. The guests would be arriving soon. “Tell me what you learned from the florist.”

“The flowers used in these arrangements include yellow oleander, pink rhododendron, white azaleas, sprigs of hemlock and roses that are such a dark red that they appear to be black. Does that suggest anything to you?”

Though he could see that she was fighting to keep her anger under control, her flushed cheeks and clenched jaw betrayed the hostility raging just below the surface. And he was feeling much the same. “I don’t get it.”

“Even if you don’t know anything about the language of flowers—which clearly you do not—I’d expect you to recognize common poisons. If you had to survive in nature, what would you eat?”

“I could do without the sarcasm.”

“All these plants are toxic, except for the roses, and black roses symbolize death.”

His gaze darted around the room, noticing the large display at the podium and six smaller versions on surrounding tables. “How dangerous are they?”

“There’s no problem unless the guests start eating the flowers or rubbing them on their bodies. I’m surprised that the florist agreed to handle these plants.”

She crossed the marble floor to one of the tables with a tall spreading display of flowers, and he followed. “They don’t look dangerous.”

“Anyone who knows about plants will recognize the threat. They’re a warning. And that’s why I talked to the florist about why they used these flowers. They said they were fulfilling a request, and here’s where this story gets interesting.”

“How so?”

She plucked one of the dark velvety roses from the display. “Guess who made the request for all these poisonous flowers?”

He didn’t have time to play games. “Tell me.”

“The name the florist gave me was... Kenneth Warrick.”

Chapter Three

Gennie was good at reading people, not that it took any particular sensitivity to deduce that Noah was furious. His brow furrowed like a grumpy—but still handsome—troll, and she could almost see steam shooting out of his ears, which was pretty much the reaction she’d expected. If there was one thing she’d learned about her boss during the past four days, it was that he hated when any situation got out of his control.

Though equally outraged, Gennie tamped down her anger. She twirled the dark rose between her fingers. “Did Warrick send these flowers as a warning? Or as a threat?”

“Hell if I know.”

His dark brown eyes returned her gaze with an intensity that made her feel like he was peering inside her skull. Looking for what? She had no hidden agenda. Her attitude toward Warrick was unambiguous hatred. As far as she was concerned, Noah was the wild card. He had mentioned Warrick at their first meeting, but he didn’t give context. Were they connected? Was Warrick a friend or an enemy? A muscle in Noah’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. If that was the way he wanted to play it, fine.

She squared off with him and went silent.

They were both stubborn enough to continue this stare down for a very long time. She took the opportunity to study his face, which was definitely masculine in spite of the dimples that tweaked the corners of his mouth when he grinned. He was saved from being too classically handsome by his square jaw, sharp cheekbones and the tension that deepened the wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. She wondered what he’d look like with longer hair and maybe a beard.

Speculation on Noah’s grooming was none of her business. Whether he shaved or not, she didn’t give a hoot. Gennie had never been the type of giggly girl who got all jacked up over a good-looking male. She needed to figure out why Warrick requested those flowers. Warning or threat, which was it?

She cleared her throat. “Is Kenneth Warrick coming to this event?”

“He’s not on the guest list.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I have no reason to expect he’ll be here.”

“In our first interview, you mentioned Warrick. Is he an associate of yours?”

“Hell, no.”

Could she trust Noah? If she was going to work with him, she had to know that he had her back. “How did you meet Warrick?”

“We’ve never come face-to-face.”

She could tell that he was rationing his words but had no idea why. They were on the same team, weren’t they? Motioning for him to walk beside her, she strolled across the marble floor of the ballroom toward the kitchen where the caterers and the waitstaff bustled. Some carried trays of canapés. Others made final preparations by slicing, dicing and arranging. Two hours ago when she’d arrived at this massive three-story red brick Colonial house with six pillars across the front, she’d been excited about her assignment and anxious to do a good job—similar to how she used to feel with her team of army engineers. In Afghanistan, she’d been aware of the ever-present danger, but she hadn’t been fearful. And she wasn’t scared now, just apprehensive. She’d peeked under a stone and uncovered a scorpion.

She stopped a caterer in a chef’s jacket and asked him to clip the stem on her rose. Using his knife, he did so and handed the bloom back to her with a flourish. She rewarded him with a smile, passed on a bit of advice about steering clear of the poisonous flowers in the arrangements and then turned back to Noah. “I know Warrick is acquainted with the general.”

“He’s on a list of people to watch for. That’s why I mentioned him to you. By the way, Slocum hates him.”

She scanned the room until she spotted the overly tidy blond captain with his clipboard. “He hates everybody.”

“You have issues with Slocum?”

“Maybe.” She glimpsed a slight reaction from Noah, a narrowing of his eyes and a twitch of his mouth. “Do you have your own grudge against Slocum?”

“First, you tell me.”

While she’d been recovering from her injuries, Haymarket had offered her a job as his aide, taking over many of Slocum’s duties. Though she’d turned down the position, the captain was her sworn enemy for life. She didn’t really want to talk about it. “Let’s just say that he doesn’t like me.”

“Is there anybody in the military you haven’t pissed off?”

“Maybe not.” Though she remained curious about his beef with Slocum, she let it go. “Will you inform the general about the flowers?”

“Yes, and I’ll also ask about Warrick.” He frowned. “I think Haymarket is expecting trouble. Why else would he ask for a metal scanner and extra security outside the house?”

She’d wondered the same thing. The sniper on the roof seemed way too excessive for a fancy political fund-raiser. “He didn’t explain to you?”

“He did not.”

“Typical,” she said. “He plays his cards close to the vest.”

“Sounds like you know him better than I do.”

Her friendship with General Haymarket developed during her first tour of duty in faraway Afghanistan after he’d discovered that she grew up in his home state of Colorado. They’d known some of the same people, skied at the same resorts and fished in the same creeks. After her injury, he’d been too protective, but she never doubted that he had her best interests at heart. When Noah told her about this assignment, she’d been looking forward to seeing her former commanding officer. Someday, she hoped they could mend fences.

Friendship with the general was a mostly good memory from her military service. Kenneth Warrick was the opposite. The only way she wanted to see him was through the crosshairs of a rifle scope. After she’d been discharged from the hospital—where he never once visited—she’d done her best to erase him from her mind. Through the grapevine, she’d heard that his legitimate business as a private contractor and weapons dealer had taken a nefarious turn, and he’d dropped off the grid.

“Warrick used his real name when he talked to the florist.” She looked up at Noah. “I had the impression that he didn’t want to advertise his whereabouts.”

“Could be trying to tell us something,” Noah said. “Is he aware of your knowledge of plants and flowers?”

“I’m sure he is. One time, he gave me a bouquet of irises as a symbol for intelligence and courage. Quite a compliment.” At that point in their relationship, she would have preferred brilliant red roses meaning passionate love, but there were worse things than being smart and brave. “Why do you ask?”

“The poisonous flowers are a warning that most people wouldn’t understand. But he knew you would. He might have used his name to attract your attention.”

She shuddered at the idea of Warrick sending her a message. “If he wanted to contact me, I’m not hard to find. He could pick up the phone and call. Or drop by the house.”

“Does he have your address?”

“It’s not hard to figure out.” She lived in her parents’ house in north Denver. They’d made a permanent move to Phoenix and were glad to have her taking care of the place. “We’re getting off track. Our main concern is security for this event.”

Wryly, he said, “I’m the boss. That’s supposed to be my line.”

“It shows we’re on the same page.” And she was proud of herself for not straying off track. When Noah flashed one of his infrequent grins and hiked up his right eyebrow in a question mark, he could be incredibly distracting. She squashed a crazy urge to trace the line of his lips with the nearly black rose. Instead, she tucked the flower behind her ear.

To her surprise, he reached up and brushed his fingers through her hair. “You make me think of Carmen. It’s pretty.”

“But not practical.” She wanted to look like a security guard not an opera singer or tango dancer. She removed the flower and slipped it into the pocket of his gray sports jacket.

“Here’s a thought,” Noah said. “The threat might be aimed at Mitch Murano.”

Apart from a general outline of Murano’s accomplishments, her only information came from one of the other ARC employees. Gennie looked across the dining hall toward the redhead with the great physique. “Zoey Potter took a three-week course with Murano. She said he turned her life around.”

Noah checked his G-SHOCK wristwatch. “The guests will be here soon. In light of Warrick’s involvement, I’d understand if you wanted to take the rest of the day off.”

“Not a chance.”

“Very well,” he said. “Talk to Zoey and see if there’s a link between Murano and Warrick.”

She stifled the instinct to salute. “Thanks for trusting me.”

His grin blossomed again. “Trust goes both ways.”

“Yes, it does.”

She watched him walk away. Though he hadn’t set out to be disarming, he couldn’t help the charm that radiated from him. In a few short minutes, she’d gone from anxious and irritated to nearly trusting the man. She wanted to believe that Noah was one of the good guys. He’d taken a chance by hiring her, and she didn’t intend to let him down no matter what kind of trouble Warrick was brewing.

NOAH STRODE ACROSS the polished floor in the impressive entryway to General Haymarket’s mansion. A crystal chandelier shimmered overhead, the side tables were polished antiques from an era he couldn’t name, but he knew the sculptures resting upon them were original Remington cowboys. Noah thought of the foyer as an example of the general’s rugged outlook mixed with Ruby’s taste for sparkle. Haymarket was the sort of man who braved the wilderness to pan for gold, and she was the lady who made his nuggets into a necklace. Despite their age difference—he was in his sixties and she in her forties—they seemed happy. In a weird way, they complemented each other.

Noah paused to issue a quick instruction to Tony Vega, telling him to hold off on the metal detector. Then he ascended the curving staircase, taking two steps at a time, hoping that a talk with the general would clear up his questions about Warrick.

Outside the general’s bedroom, he came to a halt with his fist raised to knock. From inside, he heard an argument. General Haymarket’s voice was gruff and monosyllabic. The woman sounded like a soprano singing an aria. It had to be Ruby. She’d already made it clear that she didn’t like this fund-raiser, and now she was telling him that she had no intention of making an appearance.

Noah’s unfortunate marriage had ended in divorce five years ago, and he had plenty of experience with domestic tirades—enough that he knew better than to interrupt. Stepping back, he leaned against the wall in the wide hallway and put through another call to Anna Rose. Her face popped up on the screen of his cell phone.

With her index finger, she pushed her polka-dot glasses up on her nose and said, “There’s a suspicious person working as a security agent for Mitch Murano.”

“Why suspicious?”

“A series of cyber indicators lead me to believe that he’s using a fake identity.”

As she rattled off an impressive number of clues that led to her conclusion, he tried not to eavesdrop on the general and Ruby. The word liar was being bandied about, also cheating, scum-sucking creep. On both sides, it was harsh.

He stepped away from the door. “Anna Rose, I think you’re onto something.”

“Thank you, dear. There are times when this old computer broad hits the mark. Call me Super Cyber Anna Banana.”

“Another comic book character?”

“Actually, it’s what my grandson Flip calls me. Anna Banana is sparkly and does shape-shifting, usually turning into fruit.”

“In the meantime...”

“I ran facial recognition on this guy and came up with a match.”

“Kenneth Warrick?”

“Bingo!”

Gennie’s former boyfriend was becoming a problem. “Send me his most recent photo and I’ll alert everybody to be on the lookout.”

“I’ll dig into links between Warrick and Murano and the general,” she said.

“Add Ruby Haymarket into that mix. She took a class with Murano.”

As if responding to a cue, Ruby charged into the hallway, leaving the bedroom door open behind her. Over her shoulder, she shouted at the general, “Don’t try to stop me. I can’t stand Mitch Murano, and I refuse to pretend that I like the man.”

The half-dressed general followed her through the door. “You won’t be missed. I’ll be too busy chatting up Lydia Green and Crystal.”

“Seriously, Roger? Are you trying to make me jealous?” Her honey-blond hair was caught up in a high ponytail that fell past the collar of her shirt. Her sculpted eyebrows arched in disdain. “You can talk to those piglets all you want. I’m going for a ride.”

Noah stood directly in her path. Stepping out of the way wasn’t in his nature, and so he squared his shoulders and stood his ground. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“I’m not old enough to be a ma’am. We’re probably the same age.”

Give or take a decade. “Did I hear you say that you were going for a ride?”

“That’s right.” She braced her fists on the hips of her skinny jeans and glared at him. “Have you got a problem with that?”

“It’s none of my business unless your ride puts you in harm’s way. I want to be certain that you’re safe. Allow me to escort you.”

He cocked his arm, and she latched on. “If you want to ride with me, I have a stallion you might be able to handle.”

“I’m needed here, but I’ll instruct one of my men to take you to the stables.”

She tossed a glance over her shoulder at her husband. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“I won’t.” The general’s face was blistering red. “I don’t give a hot damn if you settle your cute little behind into the saddle and ride across the mountains to California. It might jostle some sense into that pea brain of yours.”

“He doesn’t get me,” she whispered to Noah, “and he never will. Not until the day he dies.”

He sincerely hoped that day didn’t come on his watch.

Chapter Four

The small circular tables scattered in the center of the ballroom were meant for standing and chatting while sampling from the buffet. Before the guests arrived, they were vacant. Gennie wended her way through the tables and across the dance floor to approach Zoey. Though the redhead wore a modest pantsuit with sleeves that covered her ripped biceps, she still looked buff. Not an ounce of flab on that tanned well-toned body.

She greeted Gennie. “So, G-Fox, are you ready for this party to get started?”

“I’ve got one question. How much do you know about flowers?”

Zoey smiled and shrugged. “They smell good?”

After a quick lecture on the toxic posies in the floral displays, Gennie mentioned Kenneth Warrick. “Have you heard of him? He used to be a private contractor in Afghanistan.”

“I was in the navy, never stationed in the Middle East.”

“He placed the order with the florist requesting those particular flowers, maybe as a threat to the guest of honor. What can you tell me about Murano?”

Zoey kept her eyes straight ahead and spoke out of the corner of her mouth as if dribbling out a secret. “I wouldn’t be surprised if this Warrick character wanted to poison Murano. Lots of people have a beef with him...including me.”

“Wait a minute!” Gennie was unsure she’d heard correctly. “You said Murano changed your life.”

“That doesn’t mean I like the guy. He claims to be spiritual and says his method is tough love, but there was nothing lovely about the way he treated me. After I left the navy, I was in a real bad place. My weight dropped to ninety-eight pounds. I dosed my morning orange juice with vodka, and that was when I bothered to get up. Mostly I stayed in bed and stayed stoned.”

“Weed?”

“And worse. I can’t believe I abused my body like that.” Her side-talking lips pinched together. “I hit rock bottom. That’s where smarmy Mitch Murano and his promise of meditation and healing came into play. I dropped four grand on a course with him. His idea of treatment was to tell me in no uncertain terms that I was hopeless and would never amount to anything. After a few weeks with him, I wanted to die.”

Gennie listened without comment. She empathized and identified with the emotional struggle that often came when leaving the service. Her injuries and the deaths of her team fed her PTSD. There had been days when she’d stared into the abyss and longed for death.

“Then I got angry,” Zoey said.

“I understand.”

“I was determined to prove my worth. Started working out like a woman possessed. I took martial arts classes and boxing, spent hours with the heavy bag, picturing Murano’s face and punching hard. After gallons of sweat and tears, I discovered the skills and talent for honing my body. I got strong. Nobody was ever going to hurt me again.”

“Do you think Murano meant for that to happen?” Gennie suggested. “Maybe he planned it that way.”

“I considered the possibility, but when I tried to thank him, Murano didn’t even remember my name. All he wanted was to sell me another class.”

She looked toward the ballroom entrance, and Gennie followed her gaze. Three other field agents—two black and one white, all former Army Rangers—had their heads together. She knew that they were armed, skilled combatants. With all this security, she shouldn’t have felt apprehensive in the least. Her gaze went toward the poisonous flowers. Warning or threat? “How did Murano connect with the general?”

“His wife took classes with the guru, and she ended up hating him like I do. You’d think that the general would stand up for Ruby. But that didn’t happen. He talked to Murano, and they hit it off, literally. They’re golf buddies.”

Her phone and Zoey’s rang at the same time. Noah had sent a text to the entire ARC team, telling them to be on the lookout for Kenneth Warrick. If sighted, they should detain him. Gennie’s screen filled with a photograph of the man she’d once loved.

“He’s cute,” Zoey said.

“Not my type.” She noticed the tiny scar bisecting his left eyebrow, the only injury he’d sustained in the explosion that changed her life forever.

Zoey reached into her jacket pocket and took out an electronic earpiece. “Have you ever used one of these?”

“Nothing as sophisticated as this, but I understand how it works.” She adjusted the volume and placed the device into her ear before attaching a mic to the collar of her jumpsuit. “It’s weird having people talk inside my head.”

Zoey whispered into her microphone, “Any questions?”

“I’m good for now.”

“Okay, G-Fox. It’s time for you to move into position.”

“Copy that.”

With a nod, she moved to the quadrant of the ballroom that she was supposed to be watching. Because she was the newest member of the team, she was stationed toward the rear at the farthest point away from the riser and podium where a small jazz band was setting up. To her right were the windows that showcased a brilliant Rocky Mountain sunset. The wall to her left held portraits in elaborate frames, including one of Ruby on horseback. Too bad she wasn’t here! Gennie would have liked to hear her opinions about Murano. In spite of what Zoey had said, the guru couldn’t be a total jerkwad. After all, the general liked him enough to host this grand fund-raiser.

She glanced across the ballroom toward where Zoey was standing at the edge of a wide corridor with glass French doors that stood open. The powder rooms, an office and a library were in that direction. A couple of hours ago when Gennie had been scanning for explosives, bugs and other potential problems, she’d explored and fallen in love with the spacious library that had bookcases on every wall and comfortable overstuffed furniture for curling up and reading. The tall arched windows offered a charming view of the stable and attached corral. After this event was over, she might be able to spend some time in that library with the general, and they could reconnect.

Until then, she was on duty.

And the guests were arriving.

This type of high-class security while not in uniform was new to her, and she enjoyed exercising her powers of observation. While she watched and listened, the room gradually filled with polished gentlemen and well-dressed women. If half their jewels were the real thing, the Haymarket mansion would have been a bonanza for a thief. She caught a hint of gossip, mostly suggestions that the general was having an affair. The fact that Ruby had skipped this event fanned those flames.

Tony Vega’s voice came through the earpiece. “Heads up, everybody. The guru is here.”

While continuing to keep an eye on the people in her quadrant, Gennie circled around the outer tables where people were seated and surveyed the central array where others stood and drank and talked. Though many of the guests had arrived, the large ballroom wasn’t crowded. Curious, she took a position where she could get a peek at Murano. Others flocked around him, moths to a flame. In the midst of that adoring group, she glimpsed his shoulder-length black hair, heavy brows and toothy smile. He was shorter than she’d expected, probably only five foot ten. But there was something that made him seem large. His fan club would have called it charisma, but she sensed an over-inflated ego that puffed him up like a balloon. His trademark was a glittering circular brooch he wore at his throat as a bolo tie—an example of the famous Murano glass that was manufactured by his ancestors in Italy.

She spied Noah as he moved toward her. Now, there was a man who didn’t need sparkles to stand out! Her boss did nothing to attract attention, but she couldn’t look away. His stride showed a natural athleticism. Maybe she was imagining things, but it seemed like other people cleared a path for him. Gennie wasn’t the only one watching Noah. The bejeweled ladies took notice. And when he came to a halt beside her, she felt a little bit special.

“Have you seen your old buddy from Afghanistan?” he asked.

“He’s not my bud. And no, I have not.” When she looked back toward Murano, he seemed to be watching her...or not. Why would he be interested in her? “What else have you learned about Warrick?”

“He’s been working security for Murano under an alias.”

“That’s a scoop. How did you find out?”

“Anna Rose, our boss and resident cyber genius, tracked him down on her computer. I asked the head of Murano’s security about Warrick, using his alias. He’s not on the schedule for today.”

“How many guests?” she asked.

“Three hundred fifteen, including spouses.”

“And how many security people does Murano have with him?”

“Today, it’s three.”

ARC had twelve, including the guy on the roof, and Murano had three. Fifteen trained security agents to handle a couple hundred people at a fund-raiser in Denver seemed way over the top. The atmosphere felt forced, like the jazz band playing upbeat tunes. No blues for Mitch Murano. “What kind of event is this? When I worked security for the US Embassy in Kabul, we had fewer guards.”

“It’s what the general wanted. Not the way I would have handled things, but I’m not paying the bill.”

“Did you set up the metal detector?”

“Upon consideration, the general agreed with Slocum that his guests would be insulted by us asking them to disarm.”

“Wouldn’t want to upset the donors.” She felt like they were in a war zone.

“When I mentioned Warrick to the general, he denied having contact with him.”

Though she really wanted to be friends with the general again, she didn’t altogether believe his denial. “Wasn’t he the one who warned us about Warrick?”

“The instruction actually came from Slocum.”

“But the general must know that Warrick works for Murano. They golf together. Wouldn’t the general have run into him?”

“I’m not going to push. Figuring out the undercurrents isn’t our job.”

The hell it wasn’t. “With all due respect, Noah, you’re dead wrong. Security is about more than reacting to an overt threat. We need to be able to decipher the undercurrents and anticipate the enemy’s next move.”

She held her breath, watching him and waiting for his response. The minute she’d opened her mouth, she knew that she was being seriously insubordinate. Noah would be justified if he fired her on the spot.

“With all due respect?” He grinned. “You’ve got a real talent for making enemies.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“But I’m not going to line up against you, Gennie. I hate to admit when I’m dead wrong. So, I’ll just say that you’re right about figuring out what the hell is going on here. We need to know. In the meantime, we’ll watch over the valuables and try to keep these people from killing each other.”

“Yes, sir.”

A tall man in a rear admiral’s uniform waved to Noah. “I’ve got to meet and greet some of our past and future clients. If you see Warrick, use your mic and let us know. Hang in there, Gennie. You’re doing a good job.”

“Copy that.”

She restrained an urge to hug him or follow him across the room like a besotted puppy dog. Of the many officers and supervisors she’d worked under, very few would admit a mistake. Noah was a good leader. He made her feel valued, as though her insights mattered.

Milling around and trying to be invisible, she observed as the guests munched on native Colorado foods, including the infamous Rocky Mountain oysters, and drank Colorado brews and placed their bids on silent auction items. She’d spotted a rancher in a Western-style suit with a holster clipped to his belt and a sweet-faced lady who revealed her Colt .45 when she opened her needlepoint satchel to take out a hanky. In spite of the artillery, neither seemed prone to violence.

The crowd swelled as the band switched to a couple of John Denver songs designed for singing along. As the guests chanted “Rocky Mountain High”—officially designated as the second state song—she heard Tony Vega through her earpiece. “I need backup at the entrance to handle a couple of drunks.”

“I’m on my way,” Zoey responded. “G-Fox, you need to cover my area, as well as yours.”

She turned on her microphone with a touch. “I’m on it.”

The corridor where Zoey had been standing was a lot busier than Gennie’s area because the restrooms were down that hall. Trying to avoid looking like a bathroom monitor, she paced behind the silent auction tables where well-displayed photos showed the vacation trips, jewelry, electronics and other goodies.

Outside, the sunset was turning to dusk. Several small crystal chandeliers glimmered and artful, indirect lighting spread a flattering glow throughout the ballroom. Gennie wished the lights were brighter so she could see clearly.

After a few minutes, Tony’s voice came through the earpiece again. “All clear.”

Gennie wasn’t so sure. She didn’t feel like they were in the clear. Something was off. Though the air was still, a sudden chill sent goose bumps up and down her arms.

Then she saw him.

Kenneth Warrick turned away from her and sauntered toward the corridor that led to the restrooms. Though she’d only had a quick glance, she could tell that he’d altered his appearance by changing his hair, covering the scar in his eyebrow and growing a beard. He didn’t look much like the photo Noah had sent to the team, but she knew him. Gennie would never forget the set of his shoulders and the cocky way he walked. He paused at the open French doors outside the corridor, turned his head and made direct eye contact. Then he blew her a kiss.

Bastard! She activated her mic. “I need backup. Kenneth Warrick is in the hall outside the bathrooms.”

Leaving the auction tables, she took her Beretta from the holster and held it close to her side to avoid frightening the guests. At the entrance to the corridor, she glimpsed the door to the library closing.

Before she could follow, a man grasped her left arm. She didn’t feel pain but the pressure alerted her to a strong grip. Acting on pure instinct, she broke free and whirled. Before she retaliated with a blow to his throat, gut and crotch, she stopped herself. “Mr. Murano,” she said.

“Actually, it’s Dr. Murano, but I don’t like to stand on ceremony. Please call me Mitch.” He treated her to a close-up view of his twinkly white smile and the glittering fastener on his bolo tie. “You’re Gennie Fox, aren’t you? The general told me about you.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Surely, you can spare a few minutes. I’m fascinated by your insensitivity to pain. Does it affect the dexterity in your hands?”

There was no polite way to end this conversation. “I can’t talk now.”

With a pivot, she dashed down the corridor toward the closed library door. She was pleased to see that Zoey and one of the other guys had responded to her call for backup and joined her. To her chagrin, Murano was close behind them. Where the hell is Noah? Gennie wanted him to be there when she met Warrick. No time to wait.

She tried the handle on the door. Of course, it was locked. She was reminded of when she had to break into the mountain cabin to rescue the fake hostage. Dropping to her knees, she picked the lock in seconds.

Behind her, she heard Zoey talking into her mic. “We need backup at the library.”

Gennie pushed the door open and raised her Beretta in both hands. The lights were on, illuminating the horror. She saw blood, so much blood. And then...

“Noah!”

He was exiting the library through a tall open window. His bloody handprint smeared the glass.

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