A coin

Months ago at the Trevi Fountain, Callie Langston wished for a matinee idol to sweep her off her feet. Instead, she got an action hero! A battle-scarred but sexy security expert used to danger and ready for love…

A proposal

Days ago, Joe Russo went down on one knee and put a ring on her finger. But before she can answer him, safe, predictable Callie is heading back to Italy, permanently, on one crazy Christmas adventure.

A wedding?

Joe is everything she’s wished for and more. But Callie’s waited her whole life to live. Among the timeless beauty and ancient traditions of Christmas in Rome, she’s got to decide: Will it be the plan…or the man?

He knew exactly where to find her.

Watching the Trevi Fountain come to life, water spilling from it into the basin.

“Callie.”

Her hips swiveled. Her head turned. Those soul-stripping eyes locked with his. “Hello, Joe. Tracking me down again?”

“We need to talk.”

She gave a short laugh. “I thought that was my line.”

He sat beside her on the edge of the fountain.

“Do you remember the last time we were here?” she asked after a moment, her gaze on the glistening water.

“I remember.”

“I made a wish then. Should I tell you what it was?”

Joe wasn’t sure he wanted to know. When he made a noncommittal sound, she angled her chin and pinned him with those incredible eyes.

“I wished for a dreamy romantic hero right out of the movies,” she confessed.

“Sorry. Looks like you’re zero for three.” He didn’t see himself as dreamy or romantic or heroic.

“Maybe I should make another wish.” Eyes closed, she looked as though she was sorting through dozens of possibilities before settling on one. Then she sent the coin sailing toward the fountain.

“What did you wish for this time?”

She smiled. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

* * *

Three Coins in the Fountain: When you wish upon your heart…

Callie’s Christmas Wish

Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A career Air Force officer, MERLINE LOVELACE served at bases all over the world. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to try her hand at storytelling. Since then, more than twelve million copies of her books have been published in over thirty countries. Check her website at www.merlinelovelace.com or friend Merline on Facebook for news and information about her latest releases.

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Many, many thanks to Machaelie Halsey, who let me pick her brain about counselling techniques during lunch at Chili’s, then read several chapters while we were cooking Easter dinner.

Thanks, too, to Christy Gronlund, who filled me in on the joys and stresses of Children’s Advocacy. You both made this book so rich in detail and rewarding for me to write.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It started with the fountain.

That damned Trevi Fountain.

Callie and her two best friends had to take a long-dreamed-of trip to Italy this past September. Then she and Dawn and Kate had to defy the tradition that said just tossing a coin in the fountain would bring them back to Rome someday. Oh, no. The centuries-old tradition wasn’t good enough. They had to make separate, secret wishes.

Kate’s came true while the three friends were still in Italy, when she and her husband reconciled mere weeks away from a divorce. Dawn didn’t realize her wish had been granted until she was back in the States and acting as surrogate nanny for a lively six-year-old. A few short weeks later, the laughing, flirtatious redhead had made the surprising and completely unexpected leap from carefree bachelorette to deliriously happy mother to Tommy and wife to hunky Brian Ellis.

Callie had made a wish in Rome, as well. One she hadn’t shared with anyone. Not even her BFFs. It was too silly, too frivolous. And so not in keeping with her usual level-headed self.

That ridiculous wish was coming back to haunt her now. Every part of her thrummed with nervous anticipation as she helped Dawn and Tommy loop fresh pine boughs into Christmas wreaths for the doors of the Ellises’ home. Luckily, the determined efforts of Tommy’s three-month-old wheaten terrier pup to get into the action kept both the boy and Dawn so amused that neither noticed Callie jump when the doorbell rang.

The sound of the bell sent the pup into an immediate frenzy. His butt end whipped around. His claws skittered on the pine plank flooring. High-pitched yelps split the air as he careened out of the kitchen and down a hallway fragrant with the scent of the cloves and cinnamon and oranges in the Christmas potpourri.

“That’ll be Joe.”

Pushing to her feet, Dawn dusted the pine needles from the moss-colored turtleneck that clung to her generous curves and made her eyes appear an even deeper shade of emerald.

“His message said his plane would touch down at three and he’d be here by four.” She slanted Callie a sly look. “Tall, dark, handsome and punctual. What more could a girl ask for?”

Nothing, Callie agreed, her stomach fluttering. Not a single, solitary thing.

Except...maybe...

There it was! That absurd coin toss again. How juvenile to wish Joe would let just a tiny smidgen of romance sneak through his solid, masculine, don’t-mess-with-me-or-mine exterior. Hadn’t he put his highly lucrative business interests on hold for her? Devoted considerable time and expense to tracking down the source of the ugly emails she’d begun receiving a few weeks before the trip to Italy? Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Callie followed Dawn, the wildly yipping terrier and Tommy down the hall.

“Joe promised he’d bring me a real, live boomerang from Australia,” the boy reminded them as he charged for the door. “Hope he remembered it!”

He would. Callie didn’t doubt it for a second. In the few short months she’d known Joe Russo, she’d come to realize that nothing ever escaped the steel trap of his mind.

They’d first met during a never-to-be-forgotten jaunt to Venice. At the time Joe headed a highly specialized personal security team guarding Carlo Luigi Francesco di Lorenzo, aka the Prince of Lombard and Marino, who also happened to be one of Italy’s most decorated air force pilots. Carlo, Kate’s husband, Travis, and Dawn’s now-husband, Brian, had been involved in testing some hush-hush, super-secret modification to NATO special ops aircraft flying sorties from a base in northern Italy.

Callie and Joe had met again in Rome, when Travis surprised Kate with an elegant ceremony to renew their marriage vows. At that damned fountain! It must have been the stars in Kate’s eyes as she reaffirmed her love. Or the mischievous sparkle in Dawn’s when she announced she was flying home with the Ellises to assume duties as Tommy’s stand-in nanny. Whatever the impetus, Callie gave in to her friends’ urging that they all toss one last coin over their shoulders. Which was when she’d made that stupid, stupid wish.

Not ten minutes later, she’d found herself separated from her friends and yielding to Joe Russo’s quiet but relentless interrogation. As she’d soon discovered, the man hadn’t transitioned from military cop to soldier of fortune to head of one of the world’s most exclusive personal protection agencies without learning how to extract secrets from even the most reluctant interviewees.

He’d watched her, Joe had revealed. Saw how her shoulders braced every time she checked her email. Noted, too, how her eyes would flicker with distress before she withdrew even farther into her seemingly serene shell.

Callie tried to deny it. Tried to shrug aside his laser-sharp perceptions. She was too used to safeguarding the privacy of the children she’d represented as an ombudsman for the Massachusetts Office of the Child Advocate to spill their—or her—secrets. At that point Joe reminded her that she’d walked away from her job some weeks ago. He also pointed out that he could tap into any legal and/or law enforcement agencies necessary to resolve whatever was scaring the crap out of her.

Callie still couldn’t believe she’d broken down and told him about the threatening emails before she’d shown them to Kate and Dawn. Neither could her two best friends, for that matter. They’d let her know what they thought about that in some pretty forceful terms. But they got over their snit in short order and promptly threw a protective shield around her.

First, Kate insisted Callie stay with her in DC after their return from Italy. Then, when Dawn married and moved out of the elegant gatehouse designed for Tommy’s live-in nanny, she’d insisted Callie take up residence there while Joe investigated the emails. And when the emails escalated from ugly to really scary, Joe tried to hustle her into protective custody.

Callie had drawn the line at that. She was staying in DC, hundreds of miles from her Boston home. She had four fierce watchdogs in the persons of Kate and Dawn and their spouses guarding her day and night. She’d turned over every threatening communication to the authorities, and Joe had exercised the legal system to gain access to the juvenile court cases she’d worked.

Enough was enough.

But her heart had still pounded each time she checked her emails. It pounded even harder every time Joe called or flew in to update her on his investigation. The kiss he’d laid on her last time he was in DC might also have something to do with the fact that she was holding her breath while Tommy yanked open the front door.

“Hi, Joe. Didja bring the boomerang? Didja?”

“You bet.”

One of Joe’s rare smiles flickered across his face. His cheeks creased, almost hiding the scar slashing down the left side. All Callie knew was that it was the legacy of a mission he wouldn’t talk about to anyone, not even to Brian, Travis or Carlo. The angry red slash had faded in the past few months but still drew occasional startled glances.

Callie barely noticed it anymore. The rest of the package was too compelling. The broad shoulders now encased in a leather bomber jacket that had seen its share of wear, the square chin, the ice-gray eyes, the dark brown hair with its barest hint of a curl.

“Don’t forget what I told you,” Joe instructed as he stepped through the door and handed over a package wrapped in brown paper. “It’s not a toy.”

“I remember! Boomerangs are more than ten thousand years old. The aber...um...abra...”

“Aborigines.”

“Yeah. The aborigines used to hunt with ’em.”

While the boy tore at the brown paper, Joe nodded hello to Dawn before shifting his gaze to Callie. In their short time together, she’d discovered that his silvery eyes could turn as opaque and impenetrable as a Massachusetts coastal fog when he wanted, which was most of the time. But they glinted now with a triumph so clear and sharp that she knew instantly his sudden trip Down Under had yielded results.

“The emails!” she exclaimed. “You nailed the sender.”

“To the wall,” he replied with such savage satisfaction that Dawn whooped and flung up a palm for a joyous high five.

“All riiiight, Russo!”

The exuberant exclamation startled Tommy and the pup. Blue eyes wide, the boy clutched his boomerang to his chest and demanded to know what was going on while his pet made indiscriminate lunges at any and all adults.

“Down!”

Joe’s low command caught the terrier in midlunge. It dropped instantly onto its haunches, looking as uncertain as a cuddly, curly-haired puppy could.

“Let me take your jacket,” Dawn said in the sudden, blessed silence. “Then we’ll go into the kitchen and you can tell us every detail.”

“Mooooom.”

Tommy stretched the single syllable into a mile-long protest that stopped Dawn in her tracks. Despite the butterflies in her stomach, Callie had to smile at her friend’s goofy expression. The bubbly, irrepressible Dawn still wasn’t used to being a mother to anyone, much less a blue-eyed imp with the face of an angel and enough energy to propel the Hubble Space Telescope into extended orbit.

“Joe’s gotta show me how to make my boomerang come back,” Tommy insisted. “Or...” He assumed an air of patently false innocence. “I guess I could take it outside and figure out how it works myself.”

“Yeah,” Dawn snorted. “Like I’m going to turn you loose with an ancient hunting weapon.”

The Ellises’ home was in an older part of Bethesda, just over the Maryland border from Washington, DC. The neighborhood consisted of gracious brick and stone houses set on large, tree-shaded lots. Their backyard was enclosed in mellow brick and graced by a fanciful gazebo now dusted with a light snow. It was also overlooked by a half dozen plate-glass windows, all of which were at risk despite Tommy’s assurances that he would be real careful.

“We want to hear Joe’s news,” Dawn told the boy firmly. “Then we’ll all put on our jackets and go out with you.”

His lower lip jutted mutinously. “But...”

“Chill, dude.”

Always a man of few words, Joe got his point across without raising his voice. Dawn flashed him a rueful smile as she created a diversion for boy and dog.

“Why don’t you go into the den and get on the computer? You can pull up that website on the aerodynamics of boomerang flight your dad bookmarked for you. I bet Joe would like to see it after we talk.”

Reluctant but outnumbered, Tommy caved. “’Kay. Just don’t talk too long.”

Still clutching his prize, he scampered off with the pup hard on his heels. Joe shrugged out of his jacket and raised a brow as Dawn hooked the well-worn leather on the hall coatrack.

“Aerodynamics of flight, huh?”

“What can I say? Brian and his first wife were both engineers. It’s in Tommy’s genes.”

It was a measure of Dawn’s basic warmth and security in her two-month-old marriage that she didn’t want Tommy to forget his birth mother. Caroline Ellis had died of a brain tumor less than a year after her son’s birth. Tommy had no real memories of her except those captured in the exquisite digital book Dawn had made for him using all her skills as a graphic designer.

“C’mon. I’ll brew you some coffee while you tell us all.”

Dawn turned to lead the way down the hall, so she missed the casual hand Joe laid at the small of her friend’s back. Callie, on the other hand, felt the light touch right through her baggy purple sweater and cotton camisole.

When Joe called to say his plane had touched down, she’d almost dashed to the gatehouse to change, slap on some lip gloss and drag a brush through her mink-brown hair. She’d been thinking about taking Dawn’s advice and getting the shoulder-length mass shaped at one of DC’s elegant salons. With her life pretty much on hold these past weeks, though, she’d settled for just pulling it back in a ponytail or clipping it up.

She made a futile effort to tuck back some of the wayward strands as she and Joe settled in high-backed stools at the kitchen counter and Dawn plugged a fresh, single-cup, dark arabica blend container into the coffeemaker. As hot water steamed through the cup, the coffee’s rich aroma competed with the sappy tang of the fresh-cut pine boughs on the kitchen table.

“Okay,” Dawn demanded when the super-fast appliance delivered a steaming mug. “Talk! We’ve all been speculating like crazy since you took off so suddenly for Sydney. Tell us who the creep is who’s been sending those emails and why.”

Joe swiveled to face Callie. “Do you remember acting as ombudsman for a girl named Rose Graham?”

Frowning, she flipped through a mental filing cabinet of the cases she’d worked in her six years with the Massachusetts Office of the Child Advocate. Some files were slender; others were fat and crammed with tragic details. Still others were truly horrific. As best Callie could recall, though, Rose Graham’s case file was one of the thinner ones.

“I remember the name.”

“She was five when her parents duked it out in divorce court.”

From the corner of her eye Callie saw an all-too-familiar mask slip over Dawn’s normally expressive face. Her friend had been a young teen when her parents’ increasingly bitter arguments led to an even more acrimonious divorce, with their only daughter caught smack in the middle. Kate and Callie had acted as buffers as much as possible, but sharing Dawn’s heartache had been a significant factor in Callie’s decision to pursue a master’s degree in family psychology and accept an appointment as a children’s advocate.

“The mother worked as a paralegal,” Joe prompted. “The father was a software developer at one of Boston’s ultra-high-tech medical research companies.”

The details seeped back. Callie could visualize Rose Graham—fair-haired, small for her age and very bright.

“I remember the case now.” Her forehead crinkled. “As best I recall, it was pretty open-and-shut. The child was well adjusted, doing fine in preschool and clearly adored by both parents. Judges are predisposed to leave a female child that young with the mother unless there’s evidence of gross neglect or abuse. But...” Her frown deepened. “I’m pretty sure I recommended generous visitation rights for the father.”

“You did, which was why we didn’t give the Graham case as much scrutiny as some of the others. Only after I had my people go back and do a second scrub did we learn the father’s company transferred him to their Australian office earlier this year.”

“Uh-oh.”

With a sinking sensation, Callie sensed what was coming. Otherwise amicable divorce and custody agreements could turn ugly when overseas travel was involved. The cost of the travel itself was often prohibitive, and the court couldn’t discount the possibility a child taken outside its jurisdiction would not be returned. For that reason, Callie’s report to the judge had contained the standard caveat requiring review if either of the parents should relocate outside the US.

“Rose’s mother flat refused to let her daughter fly all the way to Australia,” Joe confirmed.

“And the law firm she worked for tied her ex up in legal knots,” Callie guessed. She’d seen that too many times, too.

“The father had to come back to the States so often for hearings and court appearances that he wiped out his savings and was forced to take out huge loans. As a result, he fell behind on child support.”

Callie grimaced. “And that in turn led the state to institute proceedings to garnish his wages from his home company in Boston, only adding to his legal woes and burden of debt.”

“He asked his company to transfer him back to Boston. He’s been waiting for six months for a position to open up.”

“In the meantime, his anger at the system festered.”

“And then some.” Joe shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe it took my people so long to break through the series of firewalls he erected. The man’s damned good at what he does.”

“But your people are better,” Dawn commented.

“That’s why I pay ’em the big bucks.”

“So what happened when you confronted Graham?” she wanted to know.

“Pretty much what I’d expected. He acted astonished, then indignant. Then, when the Aussie cybercrimes detectives who accompanied me to his place of employment laid out the electronic evidence, he wouldn’t say another word without an attorney present. After his lawyer showed up it still took some persuasion,” Joe said with what both women suspected was considerable understatement, “but he finally admitted to fixating on the caveat in Callie’s report as the root cause of his problems.”

“Right,” Dawn snorted. “Not the judge who signed the visitation order. Not his ex-wife or her team of lawyers. And of course not himself.”

“Of course.” Joe’s silver-gray eyes frosted with icy satisfaction. “Bastard’s in a world of hurt now. He’ll be sitting in a cell for months while the US and Australia work out jurisdictional issues. Years, maybe, since the investigation and prosecution of terror-related cybercrimes takes far higher precedence in both countries than his threats.”

Callie might have felt sorry for Rose’s father if his vicious emails hadn’t disrupted her life for the past three months. She’d have to pick up the pieces and get on with it, she realized. But first...

“Thank you.” Reaching across the counter, she laid a hand over Joe’s. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. More than I can ever say. I hated involving you in the mess, but...”

“Hated me butting in, you mean.”

“Well, yes. At first.” She had to smile. “After all, we barely knew each other.”

“A situation I’ve been trying to remedy.”

He had. He most definitely had. Just remembering the hard press of his mouth on hers the evening before his sudden trip to Australia brought a wash of heat from the neck of her sweater. The heat surged even higher when Joe turned his hand, enfolded hers and brushed his thumb over her wrist in slow, easy strokes.

Callie didn’t dare glance at her friend. Dawn wasn’t the least bit hesitant to dish out advice or offer opinions. She and Kate had both already suggested—several times!—that strong, silent, super-macho Joe Russo had a serious case of the hots for the quiet, seemingly demure member of their trio.

Thankfully Dawn refrained from commenting on either Joe’s thumb movements or the heat now spreading across Callie’s cheeks. Instead she invented a quick excuse to depart the scene.

“I’d better go make sure Tommy isn’t trying to test those aerodynamic principles in the den. Give a shout when you’re ready to, uh, take the action outside.”

The door to the den swished shut behind her, and a sudden silence descended. Callie was the first to break it. Her hand still in Joe’s, she tried to ignore the skitter of nerves his stroke was generating and smiled up at him.

“I meant what I just said, Joe. I’m really, really grateful. And so relieved it’s finally over.”

“Me, too. It’s been keeping me awake at night.”

“I’ve lost sleep, too,” she admitted. “I can’t ever repay you for the man-hours you and your people put into the investigation.”

“If it gets the shadows out of your eyes, I’ll consider the debt paid.”

His gaze locked on hers. “Your eyes are the damnedest color,” he said after a small pause. “Not purple, not lavender. Sort of halfway between the two. First thing I noticed about you.”

Well, Callie thought with an inner grimace, it wouldn’t have been her ebullient personality or luscious curves. Dawn had the corner on those. And any stray male glances the flamboyant redhead didn’t instantly capture, Kate’s lustrous, sun-streaked blond hair and mile-long legs would.

“Thanks,” she said for lack of a better response.

“I tried to find the right way to describe the color when I gave my folks your vitals,” he said with a rueful grimace. “Couldn’t bring myself to go with hyacinth or heliotrope. Their jaws would’ve smacked their chests.”

Callie’s own jaw almost took a trip south. These were the most words she’d heard Joe string together in one sitting. They were also the most surprising.

“So what did you go with?”

“Pansy.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Lovely.”

“Yeah, they are.”

His hand tightened and tugged her closer. His other hand came up to slide under her hair. His palm felt warm on her nape, the skin hard and ridged in spots. She’d once read that expert marksmen fired thousands of rounds weekly to maintain their skills and developed shooter’s calluses as a result.

Okay. She’d read that just a few weeks ago. When she was trying to weave a more complete picture of Joe Russo from the scant threads of his past that he’d shared with her. She was thinking of the still-gaping holes in that picture when he reclaimed her attention with a gruff admission.

“Those damned emails weren’t the only thing keeping me awake.”

He lowered his head but didn’t swoop in and catch her by surprise, as he had the night before his abrupt departure for Australia. He gave her plenty of time to pull away, to ease out of his loose grip. So much time she was the one who leaned into the kiss.

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a low grunt, he pushed off his stool. She came off hers eagerly. The hand still wrapped around her nape moved up. He tipped her head back for a better angle and used his other arm to fit her against him. She strained even closer while his mouth worked hard, hungry magic on hers.

Within moments, Callie was aching for more. She wanted him out of his shirt. Out of his worsted-wool slacks and his Italian leather boots and...

“Caaal-lee.”

She jerked her back and looked over her shoulder to find Tommy glaring at them with equal parts indignation and accusation. His pup wedged through the door with him and yipped, as if wanting to add his two cents to whatever was going on.

“Mom said you guys were still talking. But you’re not. You’re kissing ’n’ stuff.”

They hadn’t actually gotten to the “stuff” part, but Callie was thinking about it. Thinking hard. So was Joe, judging by the wicked tilt to his mouth.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “we are.”

Scowling, Tommy planted his fists on his hips. “When are you gonna be done?”

Joe slanted Callie a wry look. “How about we finish our...discussion...later? Somewhere private. Inaccessible to kids and dogs.”

“Deal.”

“All right, kid. Get your jacket and your boomerang and we’ll go outside.”

Chapter Two

When Joe stepped outside, he welcomed the clean, sharp bite of a DC winter. December was midsummer in Australia. During his flying visit, Sydney had been sweltering through usually high temperatures. As a result he enjoyed the brisk chill almost as much as he did Tommy the Terrible’s determination to get his boomerang to fly.

Before making the first attempt, though, the boy fingered the fine-grained wood surface and gravely explained its aerodynamic principles to Joe. “See, this is a nonballistic missile.”

“That so?”

“Uh-huh. It’s different from ballistic missiles. They’re, like, spears ’n’ arrows ’n’ bullets ’n’ stuff. When you throw them or shoot them from a gun, they fly up in an arc till gravity pulls them down.”

Which was about as cogent a distillation of ballistics as Joe had ever heard. He hid a grin as he thought of the hours he’d spent on the range as a raw recruit learning to calculate distance, velocity and trajectory.

“But a boomerang’s different,” Tommy continued, his face a study in fierce concentration as he fingered the intricate designs inlaid in the wood. “It’s got this curved shape ’n’ wide surface ’n’ the top is conver...convey...”

“Convex?”

“Yeah, convex. Anyway, Dad says if you throw it right, it’ll defy gravity as long as it has enough speed ’n’ the rotation will bring it right back to you.”

“Sounds like you’ve got the theory down. Want to put in practice?”

“Yes!”

Thankfully, Joe’s Aussie contact had directed him to an indigenous arts and crafts store with a very accommodating owner. The man had hooked a Closed sign in his shop window and taken his customer to the soccer field just a half block from his store. It took patient coaching and several attempts before Joe eventually got the damned boomerang to return.

The Ellises’ backyard wasn’t anywhere near as large as a soccer field, but Joe figured it was adequate for Tommy’s strength and throwing ability. Hunkering down on his heels, he shared his recently acquired knowledge.

“Okay, hold it in a two-fingered pistol grip.”

“Huh?”

“Sorry. Hold it here with your thumb and two fingers. Tuck the other fingers into your fist. Good. Now lift the boomerang vertical to your shoulder. A little higher. Okay. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to throw this. Just bring your arm back and hurl it forward.”

Tommy’s first attempt sent the boomerang plowing straight down into the snow-dusted grass. The second whizzed past the pup’s nose. The third actually flew off to the right, whirled and started to return before it ran out of speed.

“Joe! It was coming back!”

“I saw.”

Thrilled with his throw, Tommy almost tripped over his pet in his eagerness to retrieve the boomerang. Joe figured he’d pretty well exhausted his expertise and leaned against the garden wall to let the boy enjoy himself.

He was a good kid. Make that a great kid.

Looking back, Joe could admit he’d harbored more than a few doubts when he’d heard Brian Ellis had brought his young son to Italy. At the time, Ellis, USAF Major Travis Westbrook and the playboy prince Joe and his team were providing special security for were in the final test phase of a highly classified NATO special ops aircraft modification. The mod had been designed by Ellis Aeronautical Systems, however, and the company’s CEO was a widower who included his son and the boy’s nanny on extended trips abroad whenever he could. Unfortunately, the nanny tripped and broke her ankle in the final and most critical phase of the test.

Joe didn’t believe in luck. Not many men and women in his profession did. You considered every possible contingency, devised backup plans, worked out alternate escape routes and relied on training and instinct to get you out of tight situations. He was living proof that the formula worked...most of the time. When he looked in the mirror, however, he saw a graphic reminder of Curaçao and the one time his instincts were dead wrong.

Yet even he had to admit that chance or luck or whatever the hell you wanted to call it had played out in Italy. Kate and Travis Westbrook had hooked up again. Fiery-haired Dawn McGill had stepped in as Tommy’s temporary nanny. And Joe had met Callie Langston.

It hadn’t been love at first sight. Not even, Joe recalled, instant lust. Callie would be the first to admit that most male glances slid right past her to snag on long-legged, tawny-haired Kate or laughing, flirtatious, extremely stacked Dawn.

Joe had experienced the same initial testosterone spike when introduced to the other two women. Right up until Callie had turned her head and nailed him with those purple eyes. But it wasn’t until he saw her trying to disguise her reaction to those emails that she snagged more than a casual interest.

At first it was the cop in him. The military-trained investigator turned covert operator turned personal security expert. Then it was her insistence she could handle the problem herself. Then...

“Didja see that one, Joe? Didja?”

“I did. Good job, kid.”

Then, Joe remembered, it was Brian and Dawn setting sparks off each other. And Kate and Travis getting back together. And the playboy prince putting the moves on Callie.

Carlo’s heavy-handed seduction attempts had pissed Joe off more than they should have. They also got him thinking about things he hadn’t allowed himself think about since Curaçao. Like someone to come home to. Hell, a home to come home to. And maybe, just maybe, a son like Tommy.

Suddenly impatient, Joe pushed away from the garden wall. “A couple more throws, kid.”

“Not yet. I’m just gettin’ good.”

“Yes, yet. I want to finish talking to Callie. Besides,” he added, taking a cue from Dawn’s devious tactics, “your dad should be home soon. You don’t want to wear out your arm before you show him your moves.”

“’Kay. Four more.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“This one,” Joe said in a tone that brooked no further argument, “and one more.”

* * *

Inside the kitchen warmed by the dancing flames from a brick fireplace, Dawn and Callie cradled cups of steaming cappuccino and watched the action through frost-rimmed bay windows.

They’d just placed several calls. The first to Dawn’s husband, Brian, to break the news that Joe had ID’d the originator of the emails. Another to the remaining member of their female triumvirate.

Kate had whooped with joy and relief and insisted they celebrate. Tonight. Before Joe disappeared again on one of his bodyguard gigs for some rock star or South American dictator. She and Travis would bring the champagne and sparkling cider. Dawn and Callie could take care of the eats.

They accomplished their assigned task by calling in a to-go order for tapas and paella at Paoli, a top-rated Mediterranean restaurant just a few blocks from the house. Which left them plenty of time to sip their cappuccinos and watch the outside activities.

“Joe’s really good with Tommy,” Dawn commented casually.

Too casually. Callie recognized that okay-whatever-I’m-just-saying tone. She buried her nose in the frothy brew and waited. Sure enough, Dawn plunked her own cup down and cut to the chase.

“C’mon, Cal. Give. To paraphrase my precocious little imp, what was with all that kissing ’n’ stuff?”

Callie lowered her cup and met her friend’s eager gaze. Her own, she knew, no doubt mirrored the welter of confusing emotions Joe Russo roused in her.

“I’m not sure. It’s just... Well... Look, you’ve known Joe as long as I have.”

“But not as well, obviously.”

The drawled retort raised a smile, followed by a rueful grimace.

“The truth is, I don’t know him as well as it might have appeared. Aside from the fact he can’t—or won’t—talk about his past, he’s not exactly loquacious.”

“No kidding. But back to that kiss. It wasn’t the first, was it?”

“No.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me, sister. You might come across as all demure and innocent to outsiders, but Kate and I were peeking through the blinds when you sweet-talked Pimple Face Hendricks into dropping his drawers and showing off his prized possession.”

“For pity’s sake! We were, what? Eight or nine years old?”

“Old enough to know Pimple Face didn’t have much to brag about. So spill it. Do you want Joe to deliver a repeat performance?”

There was only one answer to that. “Yes.”

“Hallelujah! It’s about time you took the plunge.”

“Wait! I’m not exactly plunging into any—”

“The heck you’re not. I can’t count the number of studs Kate and I have fixed you up with in the past few years. After every date you’ve smiled your enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and sent them on their way. Joe’s the first male you’ve invited back for seconds.”

“Dawn,” Callie protested, half laughing and half embarrassed at how close that barb had hit to home. “It was only a kiss. Although...”

“Although what, Langston?”

She played with her half-empty cup. She couldn’t understand her reluctance to share her silly wish with Dawn. God knows, they’d shared everything else in their lives. She hesitated another few seconds before yielding her secret.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Remember when the three of us tossed coins in the Trevi Fountain that first time?”

“Of course I do. But you, Miss Priss and Boots, wouldn’t make a wish. You insisted that just throwing in a coin satisfied tradition and we’d all return to Rome someday.”

“Actually, I did make a wish.”

“Which,” Dawn guessed instantly, “involved Joe Russo.”

“How could it? We didn’t meet him until a week later, in Venice.”

“Okay, okay. If you didn’t wish for steamy, totally deviant sex with Mr. Macho out there, what was it? Please tell me it was something equally kinky.”

“Since when are any of us into kink?”

When Dawn wagged her brows, Callie gave a rueful laugh. “All right. The wish was a little...fanciful.”

“Are we talking satin sheets fanciful? Or whipped cream and melted chocolate? Or ice cubes and...”

“Dawn!”

“Ha! Do not go all prune-faced and prudish on me, missy. Just remember who advised Kate on the best brand of vibrator to buy when she and Travis separated.”

“It was the same brand you recommend to me.”

“Please stop annoying me with all these pesky details. Just tell me. What did you wish for?”

“Not what. Who. Louis Jourdan.”

Dawn understood the reference instantly. She should, since she and Callie and Kate had drooled over the stunningly handsome ’50s and ’60s–era star during several all-night movie marathons as teens.

“God,” Dawn breathed. “Do you remember him in Gigi? So suave and sophisticated and hot. The man made me want to jump straight from twelve to twenty.”

“I think he was better in Three Coins in the Fountain,” Callie mused.

She remembered the first time they’d watched the old classic. So many years ago. So many dreams ago.

“Did you ever notice how much Joe looks like him?”

That was met with a moment of startled silence.

“Now that you mention it,” her friend said, recovering, “I can see the resemblance. Aside from that fact that Joe’s eyes are gray, not brown, and he’s probably four inches taller and considerably more muscled than our boy Louis, they’re dead ringers.”

“All right, I may be projecting a bit.”

“Ya think? But, hey. Project away, girl. It’s so romantic.”

And so out of character. Despite the incident with Pimple Face Hendricks, Callie had always been the sensible, bookish one of the three. More into reading than boys in junior high. An honor student in high school. On scholarships all through college and her master’s program.

Majoring in psychology had given her great insight into the vagaries of human behavior. Unfortunately, it had also reinforced her natural tendency to stand off to the side and observe. Six years at the child advocate’s office, where she was sworn to protect her young clients’ rights and privacy, had only added to her natural reticence. The often heartbreaking cases she’d worked had taught her to wall off her own emotions. Except, of course, from Kate and Dawn.

And now Joe.

He’d pierced her shell in Italy when he’d convinced her to tell him about the emails. He’d taken another whack at it with that kiss before he’d zipped down to Australia. The one he’d laid on her just a few moments ago had pretty well completed the conquest. Watching him now, coaching Tommy in the fine art of boomeranging, Callie could almost feel her outer barriers trembling like the fabled walls of Jericho.

“Well,” Dawn commented in an obvious effort to validate Callie’s wish at the fountain, “Joe certainly has what it takes to star in a few movies. They’d probably be more shoot-’em-up action flicks than romances, though.” She hesitated a few moments. “It doesn’t bother you, what he does?”

“It might, if I could pry more than the most superficial details about his clients out of him.”

“Brian says Joe and his people were prepared to take a bullet for Carlo in Italy. Evidently the prince led a special ops raid that rescued some UN workers in Afghanistan. Or maybe it was Africa. Anyway, the group’s leader put a bounty on Carlo’s head. That’s why he required beefed-up security when we first met him in Italy.”

“Kate told me a little about that raid. Travis took part in it, too.”

Dawn nodded. “I know I don’t have to remind you that the constant fear and uncertainty, the never knowing where Travis was or how long he’d be gone or who was shooting at him, almost broke up Kate’s marriage.”

“No, you don’t have to remind me.”

Callie had been right there. She and Dawn both. Lending support and shoulders to cry on when Kate made the agonizing decision to end her marriage to the man she’d loved since high school. They’d been there, too, when Travis refused to let her go, insisting nothing else mattered if he didn’t have her.

“Joe and I are nowhere near that stage,” Callie said. “Or any stage, really.”

“Tell that to your action hero.” Dawn tilted her head in the direction of the window. “He looks like he has more than a kiss in mind.”

Callie followed her nod and caught Joe’s glance through the wide windows. He and Tommy and the pooch had finished and were heading in. When he jerked his chin in the direction of the gatehouse, she slid off the counter stool with more haste than grace.

“Kate said she’ll leave work early,” Callie reminded Dawn. “She and Travis should be here by six or six thirty.”

“Brian’s leaving early, too.”

“Buzz me when they get here.”

“You sure you want to be disturbed?”

Ignoring her friend’s salacious grin, Callie met the three males at the back door. The pup danced around her while she dutifully praised Tommy’s skills. Then Dawn lured her two boys into the main house with an offer of hot chocolate and whipped cream.

“Lots of whipped cream,” she said with a wicked glance in Callie’s direction.

Joe caught the less than subtle byplay. “Something going on I should know about?”

“Nothing important,” she said as she led the way along the covered flagstone path to the gatehouse. Escaping the chill December air, she ushered him inside. “Here, let me take your coat.”

She hung it beside hers on an empty hook. The well-worn bomber jacket carried his scent, she thought as she took a discreet sniff. Sharp and clean and leathery. It felt like him, too. Tough and resilient.

Oh, Lord! She had it worse than she thought if she was standing here smelling his jacket. Hoping to heck he hadn’t witnessed the sniff test, she turned. Thankfully, he was looking around with interest.

“This is nice.”

It was. Bright and cheerful, with floral chintzes and bay windows that invited the outside in. The gatehouse had provided Callie a cozy safe haven for almost two months now. She hated the idea of leaving but knew she had to pick up the threads of her life again.

The problem was, she had no desire to return to Boston or to her former career. Despite all the courses and training and advice to the contrary, she’d let too much of the heartache experienced by her young, helpless and too often abused clients get to her. Even before the emails, she’d decided to quit. Now all she had to do was figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

She had no idea how much Joe might play in that. If at all. The thought made her uncharacteristically nervous. To cover it, she responded to his comment with a lively patter.

“The Ellises had the whole gatehouse gutted and redone for Tommy’s former nanny, Mrs. Wells. The one who broke her ankle in Venice. I don’t think you met her.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Dawn’s totally conflicted over that. She’d never wish anyone harm, but she wouldn’t have met Brian and Tommy otherwise.”

“And I wouldn’t have met you.”

Ohh-kay, Callie thought as he curled a knuckle under her chin. So much for small talk.

He tipped her face to his. “As I was saying before I got dragooned into boomerang duty, it wasn’t just those damned emails keeping me awake these past weeks.”

His voice got lower and huskier with each word. Combined with the brush of his thumb along her jaw, he managed to get every one of her nerves bucking.

“You’re so beautiful.”

The compliment touched a secret place deep inside her. She didn’t lack confidence in herself or her abilities, but she’d spent a lifetime in Kate’s and Dawn’s more flamboyant shadows.

“When did you have your last eye exam?”

“I’m not talking the externals. I’m talking about what’s inside. The quiet self-assurance. The serenity.”

The happy glow faded a bit.

“I haven’t felt all that self-assured or serene in the past few months.”

“You hid it well, even from your best friends.”

“There was so much happening in their lives. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“So you drew on your own inner strength, Callie. I admire that.” His thumb made another pass. “You’re the kind of woman I’ve been looking for. The kind I could come home to.”

She didn’t know why that doused the glow completely, but it did. She pulled back and searched his face. The scar didn’t so much as enter into her thought process as she tried to interpret his expression.

It hit her a second later. Affection. That’s what she was seeing. Admiration tinged with warm, genuine affection. Humiliatingly similar to what she saw on Dawn’s and Brian’s faces when they played with their son’s pup. The fact that Joe’s was spiced with an unmistakable dollop of desire didn’t soothe the swift, lancing hurt. Concealing her dismay, she eased out of his arms.

“Sorry, but I’m not sure I understand. What, exactly, do you mean by ‘come home to’?”

“Well...” He paused, obviously searching for the right words and opted for a demonstration instead. “How about I just show you?”

He reached for her again and drew her closer. When his head lowered, Callie hesitated for just a moment before meeting him halfway. Her lips molded his. Her palms found his shoulders, circled his neck. It wasn’t just affection, she told herself. She could taste his hunger, sense it in the arms that tightened around her waist.

When he widened his stance and positioned her between his thighs, she couldn’t quite stifle a groan. She could feel him against her belly. A minor distraction at first. Then a hard, rampant bulge that shot heat from her midsection to every other part of her. She wanted this man. Ached for him. Would take him any way she could have him.

And when he scooped her into arms, she didn’t hold back before responding to his gruff, “Which way to the bedroom?”

* * *

He undressed her with a skill that might have given Callie pause if she hadn’t been so intent on matching him button for button, tug for tug. Her heart melted when he took time to sheathe himself. If she hadn’t already been a little in love with him, his determination to protect her even in this most intimate act would’ve done the trick. That, and the fact that he drove her to sensual heights she’d never experienced before.

Every stroke, every kiss, every scrape of his late-afternoon bristles on her breasts and belly and thighs pushed her higher. She was panting when he parted her legs. Almost mindless with need when he entered her. Just enough sanity remained for her to take him along on the wild ride.

Her belly tight, she locked her calves around his. Her muscles contracted. Every muscle! She thrust her hips against his again, once more, and gave herself up to the roaring tide of sensation.

When they untangled, she came within a hair of succumbing to his offer of tomorrow and forever. Most likely would have, if he hadn’t tucked her against him and stroked her hair. Slowly. Lazily. Again, with the same absent affection Dawn or Brian might stroke their son’s puppy.

She didn’t draw away. Didn’t vocalize the return of her insidious doubts. Instead, she buried them deep as she and Joe took turns in the shower. He’d brought his carryall with him from the airport and changed into jeans and a misty-blue cashmere sweater that softened the steel gray of his eyes.

In deference to both the season and the occasion, Callie dressed up a bit in ballet flats, black tights with just a touch of silvery sparkle and a Christmassy green wool tunic. Twisting her hair up, she caught it with a jeweled butterfly clip she’d picked up on a foray to one of the DC area’s many malls.

She was wearing her usual smile when she and Joe joined Dawn and Kate and their respective spouses to celebrate the end of her harassment.

* * *

Her calm smile stayed in place even when Kate and Dawn dragged her into the kitchen, using the excuse of making coffee for a tête-à-tête. Kate barely waited for the door to swish shut before she pounced.

“Details! The fat, pregnant sow wants details!”

Neither Dawn nor Callie bothered to point out that her tiny pooch barely even qualified as a baby bump.

“Rumor has it you and Joe got all close and cuddly this afternoon,” Kate said. “Then you disappeared for several hours.”

“Rumor being our gossipy friend here?”

“Hey!” Dawn protested. “Since when is any area of our lives off-limits? Seems like I can recall you two demanding every intimate detail when I got engaged the first time.”

“And the second time,” Kate admitted.

“And the third,” Callie conceded.

“There! See? Turnabout’s fair play. So how was it?”

“Pretty amazing, actually.”

“You can do better than that, girl. On a scale of one to ten?”

“Twelve and a half.”

“Way to go, Joe!”

Kate raised both palms and got slaps from the other women. Callie’s was just a fraction slower than Dawn’s, but the other two women picked up on that millisecond instantly.

“What?” Kate asked. “Twelve and a half didn’t ring your bells?”

“They rang. Several times.”

“But?”

She’d shared too many ups and downs with these women to hide her silly, niggling doubt from them. Still, she felt foolish even putting it into words.

“Turns out I want Louis Jourdan, and he wants Lassie.”

Chapter Three

Dawn understood the reference to their earlier conversation, but Kate was totally confused. “Lassie? What’s she got to...? Oh!” Her eyes popped. “Calissa Marie Langston, you sly thing! Just how kinky did you and Joe get this afternoon?”

“Kate! I was speaking metaphorically.”

“Okay, now I’m really lost. How about translating for the verbally challenged? Where does Lassie come into this equation?”

Callie searched for the right words to frame her confused thoughts of a few hours ago. “Joe said I’m the kind of woman he could come home to. Not conquer worlds with. Not stand side by side with to battle the forces of evil.”

“Okay,” Kate said dubiously. “I guess that’s a start.”

“Some start,” Dawn snorted. “I like Joe. What I know of him, anyway. And I love how good he is with Tommy. But he’s not half as smart as I thought if he hasn’t figured out Callie’s the toughest one of the three of us.”

“You and I know that,” Kate agreed. “Travis, too. You gave him the most verbal abuse when he and I split, Dawn-O, but Callie sliced and diced him. The problem is, Joe hasn’t seen that side of her.”

“True.” Dawn aimed a frown across the counter. “He stepped right into the role of big, strong hero to our helpless heroine. Okay, maybe not helpless,” she amended when her friends opened their mouths on a simultaneous protest, “but you have to admit you haven’t been yourself, Cal. Not since you quit your job.” She cocked her head. “It wasn’t just stress or the emails, was it?”

“No. I was... I don’t know.” She rubbed absently at a spot on the marble counter with a fingertip. “I guess the best way to describe it is feeling restless. As though life was passing me by. I needed a change.”

“You don’t think getting involved with Joe would provide enough of a change?”

“Yes. Of course it would.” With a determined shrug, she shook off her odd mood. “Assuming, that is, he wants to get involved.”

“Yeah, right,” Kate drawled. “As if you can get more involved than twelve and a half.”

“Maybe not,” Callie agreed, laughing. “We’ll see. In the meantime, we’d better put that coffee on and get back to the guys.”

* * *

As much as Callie hated to admit it, Kate and Dawn were right. She had played the helpless heroine. Worse, she’d been more than willing to let Joe step right into the role of the big, strong protector while she hid out here in DC. It was time to take charge of her life again.

But first, she decided as her gaze rested on the man she’d opened her arms and the quiet corners of her heart to, she needed to find out just where Joe thought things between them might go. That could well color her decision on where to live and what new career paths to explore.

She approached the issue in her characteristically straightforward way. Serene and unruffled on the outside and nervous as all hell inside, she invited Joe to the gatehouse after they’d finished their coffee. The door barely closed before he had her backed against it.

“I like your friends,” he muttered, nuzzling her hair. “But they talk too much.”

“It’s...uh...called conversation.”

Oh, for pity’s sake! All the man had to do was blow in her ear and she stumbled over her own tongue.

“Not where I hail from,” he countered as his lips grazed her cheek.

The gruff reply reminded Callie of her objective. “We need to talk about that, Joe.”

He raised his head. “Where I hail from?”

“Among other things. Your security team dissected my life during the investigation. They checked out my Facebook friends. Where I buy my bagels. I don’t know anything about you.”

The withdrawal was so subtle, so slight. His expression didn’t change. He still pressed hard against her. Yet Callie sensed a few degrees of separation instantly.

“What do you want to know?”

“More than I can absorb with my back up against a door and your mouth three inches from mine.” She edged sideways. “Should I make another pot of coffee? Or would you like a brandy? Dawn left the bar pretty well stocked.”

“I’m good.”

“Okay. Well...”

She led the way into the combination living room, den and study. Like the rest of the gatehouse, it had been furnished with an eye for comfort and color. Periwinkle-blue hydrangeas and lilacs in full flower patterned the overstuffed sofa and easy chair. The sixty-inch TV was mounted at easy viewing level, and a small niche housed a built-in desk with hookups for all the latest electronic gadgets. As a tribute to both the season and the temporary nature of her occupancy, Callie had put up only a three-foot tree decorated with ornaments she and Tommy had made the previous Saturday morning.

Kicking off her ballet flats, Callie sank into the plush sofa cushions and tucked one foot under her. Joe took the opposite corner. She did her best to ignore the hard thighs and broad shoulders showcased to perfection by his jeans and that cloudy blue cashmere.

Joe met her gaze with a steady one of his own. “I can’t tell you much, Callie. Most of the ops I participated in while I was in the military are still classified, and those I work for my clients are confidential.”

“I’m more interested in the basics. Where’s home?”

“Originally? A little town in Texas you never heard of.”

“Try me.”

“Bitter Creek.”

“You’re right. I’ve never heard of it. Did you leave there to go into the marines like Brian? Or was it the air force, like Travis?”

Again, his expression didn’t change. Neither did his inflection. Yet Callie could sense the gap widening.

“Army. Rangers. Then,” he added slowly, reluctantly, “Delta Force.”

She had no idea who or what constituted Delta Force but decided she didn’t really need to know at this point.

“How long were you in uniform?”

“Nine years.”

Longer than she’d spent at the Office of the Child Advocate. Like her, Joe had changed direction in midcareer. More curious than ever, she probed deeper.

“Why did you leave the military?”

“It was time,” he bit out.

Okay. That was obviously not something he wanted to talk about. Well, there was one subject he couldn’t avoid. Raising a hand, she feathered a finger over his still fading scar.

“And this? Where did you get this?”

He froze her out. That’s the only way she could describe it. The icy mask dropped over his face so swiftly, so completely, that she blinked.

“That’s not open to discussion.”

Joe smothered a curse when she reared back looking as though he’d slapped her. Which he pretty much had.

No way he could tell her about Nattat, though, or his desperate, futile attempt to keep her safe. Exerting every ounce of will he possessed, he blanked out the all-too-vivid images of the mountaintop resort in the Caribbean and focused on the woman regarding him with such a bruised look.

“Sorry.”

He scraped a hand over his jaw and forced Curaçao to the black pit where it belonged. The clean feel of his chin reminded him that he’d shaved after showering. He must have bristled like a hedgehog when he’d hustled Callie into bed earlier, though. Wincing inwardly, he could only imagine the whisker burns he must have left on her tender skin.

Hell! That was the wrong direction to let his thoughts take him. Exerting an iron will, Joe slammed the door on the image of this woman soft and hot and panting under him.

“Look, Callie, you’ll just have to accept there’s a big chunk of my past I can’t talk about. All that matters is what’s between us here and now.”

“Funny you should say that. I was actually wondering about that, too.” Those purple eyes skewered into him. “What is between us, Joe?”

Christ! Where were his alternate escape routes when he needed them? Sweating a little, he reached out. Cupped her chin. Felt a weird lurch under his ribs.

“I can only repeat what I told you earlier. You’re a calm port. A safe harbor.”

“Right.”

She lowered her glance. Her lashes fanned against her cheek, as thick and dark as her shoulder-length hair. Joe had fantasized about that silky mass for the past few weeks. He didn’t have to fantasize now. The sight of the dark locks spilling across the pillow had been even more erotic than he’d imagined. It was a sight he intended—hoped!—to enjoy on a regular and frequent basis.

So when she raised her eyes, her calm announcement came down on him like a collapsing brick wall.

“I’m going back to Rome.”

“What?”

“Carlo texted me last week.” She eased her chin from his hold. “He’s offered me a job.”

The quiet response triggered a welter of savage reactions. Before agreeing to provide Carlo Luigi Francesco di Lorenzo the high-level personal security his government had requested, Joe and his people had thoroughly researched the prince. The man might be short, balding and getting thick around the middle, but he’d descended from one of the oldest houses in Europe. He also commanded Italy’s crack airborne special ops unit.

None of which mattered to Joe at the moment as much as the fact that di Lorenzo had racked up more hours in women’s beds than he had hours in the cockpit of his C-130 Hercules.

“Did you know Carlo sits on the board of several charitable foundations?”

Her question brought a curt response.

“Yeah.”

Grimacing, Joe raked a hand through his hair and fought to temper both his tone and his visceral reaction to the idea of Callie heading back to Italy on her own. Without Dawn or Kate. Or him.

“Di Lorenzo gave me a list of the organizations he’s involved with when I agreed to provide enhanced security,” he told her. “Most of his charitable activities are purely economic, but several...”

Joe caught himself. He’d built a reputation and a multimillion-dollar business based on absolute trust. He wouldn’t breach a client’s confidentiality any more than Callie would the privacy of the children she’d represented in court. Still, he couldn’t hold back a terse warning.

“Several of the agencies he’s involved with have ties to Africa and the Middle East.”

“I know. The job he’s offered is with one of those agencies. International Aid to Displaced Women.”

Joe felt the tendons in his neck cord. Prince or not, if Carlo thought he could involve Callie in the type of activity he himself had needed protection from, the man had another think coming.

“IADW operates a sort of halfway house for female refugees,” she was explaining. “Women who’ve escaped or been driven out their own countries and have either lost their male protectors or been abandoned by them somewhere along the way.”

“That right? And what does Carlo think you can do for them?”

The question carried more of a bite than he’d intended. So it was no surprise when Callie stiffened.

“Despite the impression I’ve obviously given you,” she said coolly, “I’m neither helpless nor unskilled. At the least, I can help these women acquire a rudimentary English vocabulary, which many of them will need before being resettled in English-speaking countries. At best, perhaps I can ease some of the trauma they’ve gone through.”

Cursing his lack of tact, Joe tried to recover. “Sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant was...”

What he meant was that he didn’t like the idea of her working with or for Carlo di Lorenzo. Which was why he committed his second major blunder in as many minutes.

“Look, before you accept his offer, take some time to think about mine.”

Her forehead puckered. “Did I miss something? What offer?”

“About coming home. To you.”

Her jaw sagged. “Is this...is this a proposal?”

Her surprise knocked him back a step. Hell! He’d thought—been certain—she’d understood where this was going.

“Yes, it’s a proposal,” he said gruffly. “What’d you think it was?”

“I didn’t... That is...” She gave her head a quick, disbelieving shake. “Joe, we barely know each other!”

“Not true.”

She’d hit the mark when she’d reminded him that he’d had his people investigate every corner of her life. Joe suspected he’d uncovered a few things about her younger years she wouldn’t want her parents to know. He chalked up those early escapades up to her more lively friends, though. Dawn, especially. The voluptuous redhead had started breaking male hearts while still a teenager. Luckily, she seemed to have met her match in Brian Ellis. As Joe had in this dark-haired, violet-eyed siren.

“I’ve seen your strength and grace under the pressure of threats, Callie. Plus,” he added deliberately, “I’d say we got to know each other pretty well this afternoon.”

“We certainly did,” she agreed, recovering from her astonishment. “And it was wonderful. Off the charts, as Tommy’s friend Addy would say.”

He waited for the but he knew was coming.

“So I hope...I really hope...we can build on that mutual desire.”

“With you taking off for Italy?”

“That’s where we met,” she reminded him, her gaze steady. “Where we can continue to meet. You may not be able to tell me much about your clients, but I gather Carlo’s not the first European you’ve worked with. Nor, I suspect, will he be the last.”

She had that right. Joe had put a number of potential clients on hold while he’d tracked the source of Callie’s emails. He could pretty well choose the continent, the risk level and the degree of personal involvement in his next contract.

“We could see each other as often in Rome as we could in Boston,” she said. “Maybe more often. If you want to make it happen.”

Damned if Joe knew at this point.

He’d been so sure she would appreciate what he had to offer. Mutual respect. Sexual compatibility, which they’d more than proved earlier. Financial security. He knew she’d been living on her savings since she’d quit her job. Had thought she’d appreciate that while he wasn’t the most expressive or demonstrative man in the world, he was rock solid. Unlike a certain Italian prince.

“I still don’t understand. Why go all the way to Rome?”

She chewed on her lower lip. When she answered, Joe sensed she was revealing a part of herself she rarely shared with anyone other than her two friends.

“Your job takes you all over the world. But I grew up, went to school and have worked all my adult life within a ninety-mile radius of Boston. Aside from family vacations and a jaunt to Cancún with Kate and Dawn during one spring break, Italy was my first real adventure. I loved the color, the food, the people. And Rome...!”

A full-blown smile came out, so warm and radiant it slammed into his gut like a rifle butt.

“Oh, Joe! Dawn and Kate and I spent only a few days in Rome. I want more time to explore its rich history and culture. On my own...and with you whenever possible.”

Okay. So maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Wandering through the Forum with her. Sharing a bottle of chianti at the tiny trattoria he’d discovered a few blocks from the Spanish Steps. Making love in a hotel room with a view of the old city walls.

They could take the train up to the Lake District for a weekend at some opulent resort. Maybe zip over to Portofino, Italy’s answer to the French Riviera. Now that the first shock had passed, Joe could see himself laying all Europe at her feet.

“I guess I can understand where you’re coming from,” he conceded. “I have one suggestion, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I think we should...”

He caught himself just in time. Dammit, he had to do this right. Had to appeal to this unexpectedly adventurous side of her personality. And that would necessitate a little more planning and execution on his part.

“I think we should sleep on it,” he temporized. “See how we feel in the morning.”

A gleam of laughter leaped into her eyes, but she answered with a solemn nod. “By all means, Mr. Russo, let’s sleep on it. Your place or mine?”

His DC hotel room was modern and efficient but held none of the comforts of the gatehouse. Callie’s smiling invitation to share it with him kicked his pulse into overdrive. It was hammering hard and fast when he tumbled her back onto the sofa cushions.

“Yours, Ms. Langston. Yours.”

* * *

His internal alarm went off at its usual 5:00 a.m. He came instantly alert but had learned long ago to give no indication he was awake. That skill had saved his life several times, most recently in Curaçao.

Slamming the door on that memory, he kept his eyes closed and concentrated on recording sensory signals. He heard Callie beside him. Her breathy intake, her snuffling exhale. Not quite a snore but close enough to make him smile inwardly. He could feel her, too. Soft and pliant and warm against his side. Her scent filled his nostrils. The lemony tang of her shampoo. The faint, yeasty residue of their lovemaking. One whiff and he felt himself hardening. Only his self-discipline and years of brutal training kept him from rolling her over and burying himself in her hot, tight depths.

He lay quiet, mulling over everything they’d talked about last night. Callie wanted to expand her world. He could understand that. He’d explored damned near every corner of it himself, both in the military and out. Before she went traipsing off to Rome, though, he intended to make sure she wore his brand.

He disciplined himself to wait an hour. It was close to six before he eased out of bed. No sign of the December sun poked through the bedroom shutters as he dragged on his clothes. He needed coffee in the worst way but decided not to wake Callie. Instead, he jotted a quick note and propped it on the kitchen counter.

* * *

He hit a Starbucks drive-through and infused the caffeine as he negotiated the still-light traffic in the southeast corner of DC. As early as it was, he knew Frank Harden would be at his desk.

He and Harden had served in Delta Force together before going their separate ways—Joe as a mercenary for some years before starting his own protective services agency, Frank as a civilian analyst with the Defense Intelligence Agency specializing in African affairs. Whip-smart and not shy about voicing his opinion, Harden had progressed steadily up the ranks at the DIA. His current senior executive service rank equated to that of a major general, but neither he nor Joe let that get in the way of the friendship they’d forged all those years ago.

Joe called Harden’s private extension when he was almost to the sprawling complex now known as Joint Base Anacostia–Bolling. The base had been formed a few years back by cobbling together the Anacostia Naval Support Facility and Bolling Air Force Base. Since the two installations sat side by side and ate up a big chunk of this corner of DC, Joe guessed the consolidation made sense.

As he’d anticipated, his workaholic pal picked up on the first ring.

“Russo, you mangy dog,” Harden drawled in that laconic, down-home Mississippi twang that disguised his needle-sharp instincts and encyclopedic knowledge of all things African. “Where the hell are you, boy?”

“About two blocks away.”

“Hot damn! I’ll call down to gate B and clear you in.”

As promised, Harden got him cleared through the main gate leading to the massive complex that housed DIA headquarters and a slew of other intel activities, like the headquarters of the National Intelligence University and the Joint Functional Component Command for Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance.

Harden had an underling waiting to escort his guest into the inner sanctum. Joe surrendered the lightweight Ruger LCR-357 that nested in his ankle holster, accepted a signed receipt for it, clipped on a visitors’ badge and passed through the metal detector.

Harden’s office reflected his exalted pay grade, but Joe had little time to enjoy the view. Rail-thin and every bit as gaunt as the day the two of them had tunneled their way out of a Sudanese prison, the bureaucrat delivered a bone-jarring thump to Joe’s shoulder.

“Haven’t heard from you since the cows came home. What’ve you been doin’?”

“Had a job in the Caribbean earlier this year.” Joe could feel his insides curl but kept his tone casual. “Most recently at a NATO base north of Venice.”

“Yeah, I heard something about that.” Frank gestured to one of the armchairs facing his desk. “Rumor is your pal Ellis got a fat contract out of that gig. Some new avionics package for the entire NATO airlift fleet.”

“Could be.”

Joe knew damn well it was more than a rumor. He’d gotten to know Brian Ellis well during that NATO gig and at his request had recently completed a top-to-bottom scrub of his company’s physical, industrial and cyber security. What had begun as a business association, however, had morphed into friendship.

“So what can I do you for?” Frank asked. “Or did you just come to gloat ’bout me being chained to a desk?”

“I need some info.”

“Figured. Shoot.”

“What can you tell me about a Rome-based charity called International Aid to Displaced Women?”

* * *

Joe left the Defense Intelligence Agency feeling marginally better about Callie’s decision. Although Frank wasn’t personally familiar with IADW, he had his people run a quick screen.

He also made a call to a contact at the State Department responsible for overseeing the US Refugee Admissions Program and the 6 billion dollars provided through the combined efforts of the Bureau of Population, Refugees and Migration and the US Agency for International Development. The contact’s people in turn worked closely with a host of other agencies, including the Office of the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, the UN World Food Programme, the International Red Cross, the UN Children’s Fund and the International Organization for Migration. Most of these organizations had special programs in place to protect the most vulnerable sectors of the population, including women and girls.

Harden’s contact had verified that the Rome operation was legit. Equally important, there’d been no documented reports of terrorists or hard-core criminals infiltrating the population the agency cared for. That wasn’t to say they couldn’t. Given the growing number of women being recruited by groups like ISIS, the PLF and Sri Lanka’s Tamil Tigers, programs that helped women enter or resettle in other countries made tempting conduits.

Joe intended to go over the agency’s refugee screening process with Carlo in some detail before Callie started work there. He made a quick call to his twenty-four-hour operations center and instructed the on-duty controller to check on an evening flight. The controller clicked a few keys and said there was a flight leaving Dulles at 5:40 p.m. Joe would have to hump to get everything done and be at the airport the required three hours early for international flights, but he figured he could make it.

“Okay, book it.”

He then contacted the office of the director of the Naples film festival. Marcello Audi was worried that allowing a certain entry to be shown at this year’s festival would put them on radical jihadists’ hit list. He’d requested a thorough security assessment of all venues. Joe had planned to pass on the job, but Callie’s little bombshell last night had triggered a swift reordering of his schedule. The Naples job would only take a few weeks, and it would put him less than an hour south of Rome. After that...

After that, he promised himself, he and Callie would settle on a permanent arrangement. One that gave them both a safe, comfortable haven. With that goal in mind, he steered his rental to the next stop on his hastily constructed agenda.

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