Wrong place, wrong time.

Right man for the job.

Declan O’Neill’s US Marines career is over, but nothing can stop him from saving lives. When he starts an organization that aims to help people who can’t defend themselves, his first client is a woman desperate for answers. Grace Lawrence knows something happened to her roommate, and she’s certain she can trust Declan to uncover the truth...though she wonders if she can trust herself with a soldier like Declan.

Declan’s Defenders

ELLE JAMES, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry three-hundred-and-fifty-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at ellejames@earthlink.net or ellejames.com.

Also by Elle James

One Intrepid SEAL

Two Dauntless Hearts

Three Courageous Words

Four Relentless Days

Five Ways to Surrender

Six Minutes to Midnight

Hot Combat

Hot Target

Hot Zone

Hot Velocity

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Marine Force Recon

Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09377-4

MARINE FORCE RECON

© 2019 Mary Jernigan

Published in Great Britain 2019

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.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to my father, who will always

be my number one hero. He spent twenty years on

active duty defending our country, and he has spent a

lifetime caring for and protecting his family. He’s what

heroes are made of, and I love him so very much.

Love you, Dad!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

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

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Declan O’Neill hiked his rucksack higher on his shoulders and trudged down the sidewalk in downtown Washington, DC. The last time he’d seen so many people in one place, he’d been a fresh recruit at US Marine Corps Basic Training in San Diego, California, standing among a bunch of teenagers, just like him, being processed into the military.

He shouldered his way through the throngs of sightseers, businessmen and career women hurrying to the next building along the road. The sun shone on a bright spring day. Cherry blossoms exploded in fluffy, pinkish-white dripping petals onto the lawns and sidewalks in an optimistic display of hope.

Hope.

Declan snorted. Here he was, eleven years after joining the US Marine Corps...eleven years of knowing what was expected of him...of not having to decide what to wear each day. Eleven years of a steady paycheck, no matter how small, in an honorable profession, making a difference in the world.

Now he was faced with the daunting task of job hunting with a huge strike on his record.

But not today.

Why he’d decided to take the train from Bethesda, Maryland, to the political hub of the entire country was beyond his own comprehension. But with nowhere else to go and nothing holding him back—no job, no family, no home—he’d thought why not?

He’d never been to the White House, never stopped to admire the Declaration of Independence, drafted by the forefathers of his country, and he’d never stood at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial, in the shadow of the likeness of Abraham Lincoln, a leader who’d set the United States on a revolutionary course. He’d never been to the Vietnam War Memorial or any other memorial in DC.

Yeah. And so what?

Sightseeing wouldn’t pay the bills. Out of the military, out of money and sporting a dishonorable discharge, Declan would be hard-pressed to find a decent job. Who would hire a man whose only skills were superb marksmanship that allowed him to kill a man from four hundred yards away, expertise in hand-to-hand combat and the ability to navigate himself out of a paper bag with nothing more than the stars and his wits?

In the age of the internet, desk jobs and background checks, he was doomed to end up in a homeless shelter. With his last ninety-eight dollars and fifty-five cents burning a hole in the pocket of his rucksack, he’d decided to see the country’s capital before he couldn’t afford to. As for a place to sleep? He could duke it out with the other homeless people for a back alley or a park bench. Maybe he’d get lucky and someone would slit his throat and put him out of his misery.

He paused at a corner, waiting for the light to change and the little walking man to blink on in bright white.

As he waited, he noticed a couple of dark SUVs sandwiching a long, sleek white limousine. Not that he hadn’t seen at least half a dozen limousines pass in the last twenty minutes he’d been walking. But he was standing still now and had nothing else but the backs of people’s heads to stare at.

The lead SUV turned on the street in front of Declan.

Before the limousine could follow suit, a white van erupted from a side street, tires screaming, and plowed through the people traversing a crosswalk to cut off the white limousine before it could make the turn.

Another white van followed the first and raced to block the rear of the limousine, effectively bracketing the big vehicle.

Men dressed in dark suits and ties jumped out of each of the dark SUVs, weapons drawn. They’d only taken two steps when the sliding doors on the vans slashed open and men in dark clothes and ski masks leaped out, carrying submachine guns.

“Get down!” Declan yelled. He grabbed the blond-haired woman in the fancy skirt suit beside him and shoved her to the ground as bullets sprayed into the men in suits from the SUV. Declan threw his body over the woman’s, shielding her from the rain of bullets.

The men and women surrounding him dropped to the pavement out of fear or injury. Ladies screamed, children cried and chaos reigned.

While the gunmen from the white van continued to fire toward the pedestrians, more men piled out of the vans and raced for the white limousine. They yanked at the vehicles’ doors, but the handles didn’t budge.

One of the attackers aimed at the handle and pulled the trigger on his handgun.

The limousine door burst open. A black-suited bodyguard poked a gun out and fired.

The man who’d shot the door handle edged out of range, jammed his handgun through the door and pulled the trigger.

Over the top of the other side of the vehicle, another man in a dark suit emerged from inside the limousine and aimed at the man who’d just shot one of the limousine passengers.

From his prone position, Declan watched as it all went down. Whoever the security detail was guarding must have been important enough for trained gunmen to stage such a daring operation in the middle of the day, on a crowded street.

Unable to stand by while people were being attacked, Declan shrugged out of his rucksack and shoved it toward the woman he’d pushed to the ground. “Watch this,” he commanded. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

The woman lay with her cheek to the ground, her eyes wide, a frown marring her pretty features. “Where are you going?”

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing.” He bunched his legs beneath himself and pushed to a low crouch.

A hand reached up to capture his arm. “Don’t. They’ll kill you.”

“If nobody does anything, they’ll kill everyone in that limousine and the security detail that was supposed to protect them.”

“But you’re only one man.” She stared up at him with soft gray eyes.

“Just watch my ruck. Everything I own is in that bag. And stay down.” He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he ran to the side of a Lincoln Town Car that had stopped short of the vans and SUVs caught in the crossfire.

The driver lay sideways in his seat, the front windshield having been peppered with bullet holes. He wasn’t moving, his eyes open, unseeing.

Declan moved on, keeping the body of the sedan between him and the men wielding submachine guns. He waited for the shooter closest to him to turn away before he pounced, throwing the man off-balance and pushing him to the ground. With a combination of surprise and strength, he took the man down and jerked his head back with a decided snap.

The man hadn’t even fired another round. He lay still, unmoving at Declan’s feet.

Declan retrieved the attacker’s submachine gun and moved to the next man closest to him. Again, his attention focused on the limousine and the crowd lying crouched against the concrete sidewalks.

Moving silently, Declan eased up behind the next guy.

A scuffle with another security guard in the limousine generated more shouting and an eruption of gunfire.

Under the resulting confusion, Declan made his move and took out the next attacker, bringing him to the road surface with barely a whimper before he snapped his neck.

Sirens wailed in the distance.

One of the attackers yanked a dead security guard out of the back seat of the limousine and reached in to grab someone.

“Let go!” a voice inside yelled.

The attacker yanked a woman out of the limousine. She had gray hair and wore a dark gray suit and sensible pumps. “Don’t hurt anyone else. I’ll go with you. Just don’t hurt anyone else.”

He pulled her against him and pointed the handgun against her temple.

Declan cursed silently beneath his breath. A hostage meant the attackers had more than the upper hand. No matter how many bad guys he took out, he couldn’t get to the one who held the bargaining chip. Unless...

He’d worked his way closer to the white van blocking the front of the limousine. A couple of bad guys stood at the front of the vehicle and one guarded the rear.

Declan rolled beneath a long black sedan parked several feet away from the van. If he could just make it to the van the kidnapper was edging toward, he might be able to...

A police car rounded the corner two blocks away, lights flashing, siren screaming. It ground to a halt. The two officers inside flung open their doors and leaped out, using the doors as shields.

“Time to go,” the kidnapper shouted. Holding his victim with the gun to her head, he hurried toward the van closest to Declan.

If the kidnapper made it inside, the police would not be able to stop him without potential injury to the woman.

The van door slid open. A man inside grabbed the kidnapper’s arm and the woman’s and yanked them both inside.

The rest of the attackers backed toward the other van, still providing cover but unaware of Declan standing near the rear of the kidnapper’s vehicle.

As the sliding door started to close, Declan reached for the back door of the van. The handle turned, the door swung open and Declan leaped in as the sliding side door slammed shut.

Four bad guys filled the interior. The kidnapper had released his charge and was in the process of shoving the woman to the floor of the van.

When she collapsed to her knees, Declan had a clear shot.

He braced himself and pulled the trigger on the submachine gun as the driver shifted the gear into Reverse.

The kidnapper and the man who’d helped him into the vehicle dropped on top of the woman and lay still.

“Stop the vehicle,” Declan yelled. “Or I’ll shoot.”

The man in the passenger seat swiveled, a handgun in the palm of his hand.

Declan didn’t hesitate—he fired several shots at the man, the bullets hitting him in the arm and penetrating the back of the seat. The man slumped forward, the pistol falling from his hand.

The driver hit the accelerator, with the vehicle still in reverse, and he pulled hard on the steering wheel.

Centrifugal force flung Declan across the bed of the van. He hit the other side with his right shoulder, losing his hold on the submachine gun. The weapon clattered to the floor and skittered beyond his fingertips, out of Declan’s reach.

As he righted himself, the driver shifted into Drive and gunned the engine.

Barely reclaiming his equilibrium, Declan staggered backward, caught himself and lunged for the driver, ready to end the rodeo. He grabbed the back of the driver’s seat to brace himself and then wrapped his arm around the driver’s throat and pulled up hard. “Park it. Now!” he yelled.

The driver clutched at the arm with one hand and steered with the other, directing the van toward a heavily populated sidewalk and the corner of a brick building beyond.

With a quick twist, Declan snapped the man’s neck, shoved him to the side, leaned over the back of the seat and steered the van away from the crowded sidewalk and back into the street crowded with other vehicles.

Though dead, the driver’s foot remained on the accelerator.

Declan held on tightly as the vehicle plowed into a delivery truck, rocking it on its wheels. The van crunched to a full stop, slinging Declan forward.

Because he held on to the back of the driver’s seat, he wasn’t thrown through the window; instead he flipped over the back of the seat, hit his head on the steering wheel and landed headfirst into the driver’s seat.

He lay stunned for a moment, a dull pain throbbing in his head where he’d hit the steering wheel, but he was alive. He pushed backward over the seat, sat down hard on the floor of the van and surveyed the carnage.

A moan sounded from beneath the two men who’d hauled the woman inside.

Declan shook the gray haze from his head and crawled toward the groan. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

For a moment, nothing but silence came from beneath the two men.

“Ma’am?” Declan repeated. “Are you all right?”

“Can’t breathe,” her voice sounded.

Declan dragged the top man out of the way and then the other. Blood soaked the woman’s gray suit, though she showed no signs of open wounds or ripped clothing. Declan assumed the blood wasn’t hers. When she tried to sit up, he touched her shoulder. “You might want to lie still. You could have an injury from being handled so roughly.”

“I’m all right...no broken bones... I just need to...sit up.” She pushed to an upright position, her hands covered in the blood of her captors.

Declan glanced through the front windows.

Police vehicles surrounded the van, and men in SWAT uniforms rushed toward them, rifles aimed at the van.

“The police have arrived,” he said.

“Thank God.” The older woman wiped her hands on her skirt, leaving bright red streaks. Then she pushed the gray hair back from her face and squared her shoulders, a frown pulling her brow downward. “Do you think they know these terrorists have been stopped?”

“We can’t bank on it. They might take one look at me and shoot.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “But they can’t. You saved my life.”

“You in the van, come out with your hands up!” said a voice amplified by a bullhorn outside.

“Coming out,” Declan said. “Don’t shoot!” He reached for the door handle.

The gray-haired woman touched his arm. “Let me go first. Surely they won’t shoot me, and I can let them know you’re one of the good guys.”

Declan shook his head. “You never know when one of them might get trigger-happy. I’ll go first...with my hands up.”

“At least let me open the door so they will see your hands up.” The woman grabbed the handle and pulled back, opening the door slowly. “Don’t shoot,” she called out. “We’re unarmed.”

When Declan stepped out of the van, he held his hands high.

“On your knees!” a voice boomed.

Declan dropped to his knees.

“Hands behind your head.”

Declan laced his hands behind his neck.

The man with the bullhorn called out, “Anyone else in the van, get out now, hands in the air.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Declan could see the gray-haired woman step out of the van, her hands held high, her hair disheveled and blood smears on her gray suit.

“On your knees. Hands in the air,” boomed the man with the bullhorn again.

“I will not go down on my knees in this skirt. Never mind, my knees can’t take that kind of brutality.” She started to drop her hands, but must have thought better of it and held them higher. “My kidnappers have been disabled and are in the van behind me.” She nodded toward Declan. “This young man saved my life. I expect you to treat him well.”

“Ma’am, you need to get on your knees,” a SWAT officer said from behind the door of his vehicle.

Declan glared at the man. “She’s not the problem.”

“Silence,” the SWAT guy said. “On your knees.”

“Oh, for the love of Pete.” The woman dropped her arms and eased herself to the ground, on her knees.

“Hands in the air,” the SWAT team leader commanded.

“Pushy bastard, aren’t you?” the woman said.

A chuckle rose up Declan’s throat. He swallowed hard to keep from emitting the sound.

The SWAT leader motioned for his men to close in on the van. Once they ascertained the other men inside the vehicle weren’t a threat, they dragged them out on the ground and laid them out in a line.

The other van had been stopped before it had gone two blocks. The men who’d been inside were lined up on their knees, being handcuffed.

Several SWAT team members approached Declan with their rifles pointing at Declan’s chest.

He didn’t dare move or breathe wrong. With a vanload of dead men, they would assume the worst first and check the facts later. Declan couldn’t blame them. Not with the woman bathed in blood.

“I told you, this man saved my life,” she was saying. “Treat him well, or I’ll have your jobs.”

“It’s okay,” Declan said quietly. “I’ll be all right.”

“You’d better be,” she said with a frown. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly.”

A man grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm down behind his back. Then he pulled the other one down and bound them with a thin strand of plastic. Once they had him zip-tied, they yanked him to his feet and patted him down thoroughly, removing his wallet and dog tags. “Declan O’Neill, you’ll have to come with us.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me why I’m being detained, and read me my Miranda rights?” Declan asked.

“We will. On the way to the station,” the man closest to him said.

“I left my backpack with a bystander. I’d like to get it before we leave for the station.”

Before Declan finished speaking, the SWAT team leader was shaking his head. “I’m sorry. But you’ll have to come with us now.”

“You don’t understand.” Declan stood still, resisting the pressure on his arm. “That backpack is all I have in this world.” Geez, he sounded like a pathetic homeless character. Then again, he was homeless.

The SWAT team leader nodded to one of his guys. “Find the man’s backpack.”

One of his men peeled out of the group and walked toward the bystanders on the sidewalk.

Forcibly dragged, Declan had no other choice but to go with the officers. He was shoved into the back seat of a police service vehicle, and then the door was shut in his face.

Without his backpack, he had nothing. Absolutely nothing. It contained his last bit of cash, a couple changes of clothing and photographs of him and his Force Recon team before they’d either been killed or split asunder. His phone was also in his backpack. It contained the numbers for his friends. He couldn’t remember any of them off the top of his head. He’d never needed to commit the numbers to memory. They’d always been in his phone directory. Now he wished he had taken the time to learn the numbers.

His heart hurt as the vehicle pulled away. He twisted in the seat and stared back at the crowd, searching for the blond-haired woman. He didn’t see her or his rucksack. The man who’d gone looking for it was on his way back to the rest of the SWAT team...empty-handed.

His only hope was if they gave him at least one call. He hoped the woman he’d left the rucksack with would answer the cell phone inside one of the pockets. And he prayed it had enough battery power left for her to answer. Considering he hadn’t had a chance to charge the cell phone, he doubted it would ring.

Just when he’d thought he’d sunk as low as life could take him, he’d once again been proven wrong.

Chapter Two

Grace Lawrence had been on her way to interview for a job when the attack began and she’d been dragged to the ground and covered by the hulking hunk of a man. Too stunned to resist, she’d lain still, listening to the popping sound of shots being fired and the screams and shouts of women and men as they dove for cover.

All too soon, the man on top of her shifted and shoved his backpack at her, telling her to keep it safe. Left unprotected, she lay as flat to the ground as she could. Afraid of getting shot, Grace remained still for a few seconds after the man had left her with his camouflage rucksack. Gunfire seemed to blast from all around her. Some women continued to scream or sob, while other people fled.

She lifted her head high enough to see an older woman being hauled out of the limousine and shoved toward a white van.

Her gaze scanned the area, searching for the stranger who’d left the rucksack with her. She’d seen him dart toward a vehicle and roll beneath the chassis. Then she’d lost sight of him.

Her heart raced as she considered what could be happening. The man could have left her with a bag full of explosives. She could be holding on to a bomb that was about to blow her and the entire block to hell and back.

She shoved the rucksack away from her, knowing it wouldn’t be far enough. And she couldn’t get up and move...not with bullets flying through the air. Then she spied Mr. Rucksack running from the front of one vehicle to the back of another, edging his way toward one of the men holding a submachine gun. What man would leave a bag full of explosives and then go after an armed shooter, barehanded?

As she watched, the hunky rucksack owner took down the gunman without being noticed, and then dragged the guy out of sight. The next moment, her guy’s feet appeared beneath the carriage of another vehicle, heading toward the white van.

Was he out of his mind? There had to be a dozen gunmen scattered around the vans, limousine and security vehicles. How could one man stop all of those attackers?

Grace pulled the rucksack toward her and clutched it close to her chest. He’d asked her to watch his bag. Hell, he could end up dead before the attack was over. She might hold the only clue to his identity and be called upon to help identify his body.

A shiver ran through her. Grace sent a silent prayer to the heavens that the crazy man trying to stop a deadly attack didn’t die that day. She didn’t want to visit a morgue, and he was too good-looking to leave the world just yet. He deserved to live long enough to grow old and gray and develop a gut and wrinkles. Which would probably look good on him, as well.

When the sirens sounded in the distance, the group of attackers fired off rounds and backed toward the white vans. One of the men held the gray-haired woman at gunpoint, shoving her ahead of him. When they reached the van, the side door slid open and the man and woman were yanked inside.

Remaining attackers fired again and ran toward the second white van at the rear of the limousine.

The van with the woman inside backed away from the limousine and spun around.

At the same time as the side door slammed shut, the back door of the van swung closed. But not before Grace saw who had climbed into the rear of the van.

Her breath caught and held. The man who’d saved her from being mowed down by the gunmen had entered the back of the van.

Had she been wrong? Was he with the bad guys after all? She glanced at the rucksack, afraid to move in case it would explode.

Then the white van veered erratically and gunfire sounded from inside.

“Get up and move!” someone yelled. A hand reached down and dragged Grace to her feet.

Despite her misgivings, she grabbed the rucksack and ran, stumbling away from the commotion.

Police cars and SUVs converged on the street, blocking the other white van. The one her guy was in drove up on a sidewalk.

People scattered.

The van swerved back out onto the road and crashed into a delivery truck, bringing it to a stop.

A police car arrived beside Grace and officers leaped out. One pulled his weapon and aimed at the white van, while the other waved his arms. “Move back. The show’s not over.”

Herded like cattle, Grace and the others caught in the attack were urged to run until they were a full two blocks away from the scene.

The crowd thinned enough that Grace was finally able to stop and turn around.

She waited with the rucksack clutched to her chest, the weight of the bag making her arms ache.

“Lady, move along,” a police officer advised. “You don’t want to get hit by stray bullets.”

Beyond the police officers now blocking the sidewalk and street, Grace could see the white vans had been stopped. The men inside the one farthest away dropped to the ground, hands high in the air.

The other was still for what seemed like a very long time before the door slid open and Mr. Rucksack stepped out and dropped to the ground on his knees. Shortly afterward, the gray-haired woman stepped out with her hands up.

That was him, her rucksack guy. Grace recognized his faded gray sweat jacket and short dark hair.

Grace took a step forward.

A police officer blocked her path. “Sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you go in there.”

“But, that man...”

The officer shook his head. “You’ll have to stay back.”

The SWAT team secured her guy’s hands behind his back and led him to a waiting squad car. A moment later, it sped away.

Grace stared down at the rucksack. Now what was she supposed to do with it?

She found a bench and sat. Holding the bag between her feet, Grace waited for most of the people passing by to clear the area before she opened the bag. Then she drew in a deep breath and unzipped one of the sections. She told herself that if it exploded, she wouldn’t know what happened. It would kill her instantly. Still, she couldn’t help closing her eyes. When nothing happened, she opened them and searched through the interior of one compartment after another. Inside, she found a pair of worn jeans, a couple of T-shirts, several pairs of boxer shorts and a shaving kit. No plastic explosives, sticks of dynamite or detonators were hiding inside the bag.

She pulled out an envelope filled with photographs of men in marine uniforms, fully outfitted with weapons, helmets, rifles and ammunition. They stood in what appeared to be a camp in the desert.

The man who’d entrusted his rucksack with her was military or prior-military. No wonder he’d taken on the attackers like he knew what he was doing.

Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. And the police had treated him like one of the terrorists who’d gunned down innocent men and women.

Grace found a cell phone in a side pouch and touched the power button. Nothing happened. The screen wasn’t cracked, but the battery might be dead. On the outside of the bag, embroidered on a strip of camouflage, was the name O’Neill in bold green letters.

Grace would call the local police station and see what she could find out about the mysterious Mr. O’Neill. For now, all she could do was head home. She’d have to call and reschedule her interview when she wasn’t bruised and dirty from having lain on the ground, crushed beneath a man who’d proven to be a hero.

Slipping one of the rucksack’s straps over her shoulder, she headed for the metro station and caught the train out of the city to Alexandria where she shared an apartment with her roommate from college. Once on the train, she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and searched through the recent calls for the one she’d taken to schedule the interview.

Once she found it, she dialed, lifted the device to her ear and covered her other ear.

“Halverson Enterprises, Margaret speaking,” a woman’s voice came on the line.

“This is Grace Lawrence. I was supposed to interview with Mrs. Halverson today.”

“Oh, yes. I was just about to call and advise you Mrs. Halverson will not be available today. She has been regrettably detained.”

“Oh,” Grace said. “Okay.”

“I’ve been asked to reschedule your interview for tomorrow morning at 8:30 a.m. Mrs. Halverson will see you then.”

“Thank you. I look forward to meeting her.”

“Wait,” Margaret laughed. “You called me. Was there something I could help you with?”

“Oh, thank you but... I was just calling to confirm the interview,” Grace said. Margaret didn’t need to know Grace had called to say she couldn’t make her scheduled appointment.

Grace ended the call and released a sigh. At least she hadn’t blown her chances by being a no-show.

By the time Grace stepped off the train at her stop, the shock of the day had set in. Her knees shook as she walked the few blocks to her apartment complex, and she fumbled with her keys before she could open the front door.

Once inside, she set the rucksack on the floor, kicked off her heels, collapsed on the couch in the living room and dug her cell phone out of her purse.

A text message displayed across the screen.

Leaving work on time tonight. What’s for supper?

The message was from early that morning. Grace had just noticed it. She snorted out a laugh, the sound catching on a sob. What a day. Her roommate, Riley Lansing, wouldn’t believe what had happened to her. Grace would have to wait until Riley arrived at the apartment before she could tell her about it.

In the meantime, Grace needed to find out where O’Neill was and arrange to get his rucksack back to him.

She spent the next hour calling police stations, trying to locate the man, but with no luck. After hitting one brick wall after the other, she set her cell phone aside and wandered into the kitchen, looking for something to eat.

A glance at the clock on the stove made her frown.

Riley had said she’d be leaving work on time, which would have been over an hour ago.

Grace abandoned the refrigerator and retrieved her cell phone from the coffee table in the living room. She texted Riley.

Did you stop at the store?

She waited for Riley’s response. When it didn’t come, she tried again.

Hello? I thought you’d be home by now.

Grace shrugged and headed for the kitchen again. Perhaps Riley had stopped at a store with lousy reception, or her cell phone was buried at the bottom of her purse, or she’d turned off the sound. Riley wasn’t one to say she’d be home on time and then take a lot longer, without calling.

A bad feeling washed over Grace. She tried to shrug it off as residual nerves from the earlier attack in DC. But the longer she waited for Riley, the more worried she became.

Since Grace had moved in, she and Riley were the other’s support system. Grace’s parents had been an older couple when Grace was born and had since passed away. Riley’s folks were on a world cruise and not scheduled to be back for another twenty days.

Grace called Riley’s number and listened to it ring six times before it went to her voice mail. She called again and the voice mail picked up immediately.

She left a message. “Riley, call me. I’m worried about you.”

By midnight she was past being worried and beginning to become frantic. She called the police and reported her roommate as missing.

“How long has she been missing?” the dispatcher asked.

“At least five hours. She’s never late. She texted me this morning, saying she’d leave work on time tonight. Leaving work on time means she would have left more than five and a half hours ago.”

“Could she have stopped at a friend’s house?” the dispatcher asked.

“Not without calling to tell me,” Grace said.

“Where is her last known location?” the woman on the other end of the line asked.

“She was leaving work at Quest Aerospace Alliance.” Grace gave the address and waited.

“We’ll have a unit check it out. If you hear from her, please let us know to call off the search.”

“Thank you.”

The dispatcher ended the call.

The simple act of reporting her friend as missing did nothing to allay Grace’s fears. She couldn’t stay in the apartment, waiting. She had to go out and look for herself. If the police found her in the meantime, they would contact her on her cell phone. She’d have it with her.

Grace scribbled a note to Riley and left it on the counter. If Riley came home while Grace was out, she was to call her immediately.

Grace shrugged into her jacket, grabbed her purse, slipped the Taser Riley had gifted her at Christmas inside the front pocket and left the apartment, heading...

Hell, she didn’t even know which way to go.

Squaring her shoulders, she walked through the dark streets to the train station, her gaze searching the shadows for potential threats. When she reached the metro stop, she climbed aboard the train headed toward Quest Aerospace Alliance. She’d start there and work her way backward, praying she’d find Riley at a bar or hanging out with a friend.

Deep down, Grace knew she wouldn’t. She was Riley’s friend and they didn’t have anyone else they hung out with.

Grace tucked her hand into the pocket of her purse, curling her fingers around the Taser it concealed. Riley had an identical device. She’d been the one who’d often insisted that they needed some kind of protection in the big city.

Grace didn’t feel any safer, but a Taser was better than nothing. She just had to be prepared to use it. Perhaps Riley hadn’t been as prepared. When she found Riley, she’d be sure to ask. Because she would find Riley. Alive.

* * *

DECLAN SPENT TWO hours in a holding room, where he was repeatedly grilled about his part in the attack in downtown DC. Thankfully, he’d had his wallet on him, but the majority of his money was in his rucksack. If...no...when he was released, he only had a five-dollar bill to get something to eat, but no money to get around. He might as well stay the night in the jail. At least he’d get a free meal and a bed to sleep on, out of the cold, rain or whatever the weather was doing outside.

The police had allowed him to make one phone call. When he’d dialed his number, the phone service indicated his phone was not online at that time. Meaning the battery was dead and the woman he’d entrusted all of his worldly goods to had yet to find or charge it.

His one call wasted, he was escorted back to the holding room, where he was questioned all over again by yet another detective.

“What organization are you with?” the detective asked.

“I’m not with any organization,” Declan responded.

“Witnesses reported you were armed with a submachine gun. One like the other attackers carried.”

“I was in the right place at the wrong time. I watched those men kill the security detail surrounding a limousine, and then they kidnapped that woman. While others stood around gawking, I took it upon myself to do something.”

“So, you just waltzed in with your submachine gun and jumped into the back of a van?” The man snorted. “Highly unlikely.”

“I was unarmed. However, I was able to disarm one of the attackers and confiscate his weapon.”

“Convenient.” The detective’s lips pressed into a thin line. “By all accounts, the attackers were highly trained. How is it you were able to relieve one of them of his weapon?”

Declan shrugged. “You obviously aren’t buying anything I have to say. Why should I bother talking to you?” He looked past the detective. “I want to talk to a lawyer.”

The detective glared. “You’ll be talking soon enough.”

Though his hackles rose on the back of Declan’s neck, he stared back at the detective, wiping all emotion from his face. “I’ll talk when I have a lawyer.”

The detective smirked. “You got one?”

“I will as soon as you let me make a call.”

“You had your chance to make a call.”

Declan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

The detective leaned forward, his lip curling back in a snarl. “Look here, jerk, I have ten dead tourists, nineteen injured, and the DC mayor and the President of the United States breathing down my neck for answers.”

Declan clamped his lips tight. He was done talking.

The door opened behind the detective and an older man in uniform stuck his head in the door. “Solomon, a word with you.”

The detective gave Declan a narrow-eyed glance. “We’re not through here.”

As far as Declan was concerned, they were.

Detective Solomon left the room. A moment later, a different officer entered. “Mr. O’Neill, please come with me.”

Declan rose, fully expecting to be led to the rear of the building and stuck in a cell. His stomach rumbled. He was all for being incarcerated if it meant getting a meal out of it.

Instead, the man led him out of the holding area and back to the front of the building.

A group of men in dark suits stood in a cluster around a woman. She waved them aside and strode toward him, her head held high, her blood-stained clothes worn like a suit of armor.

She was the woman he’d saved from the kidnappers.

“Declan O’Neill?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

“You have been cleared of any charges. These kind officers are releasing you.” She raised her eyebrows and stared around at the policemen standing by, as if challenging them to say anything different.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“What do you not understand about your being released?” she asked. “I told them that you saved my life and fought valiantly against my attackers, risking your own life to save mine.” She frowned. “I’m appalled they took you into custody to begin with. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who witnessed your heroism. Between my account and those of others who were nearby, you’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me sound like your grandmother.” She sniffed. “As well I could be. But that’s neither here nor there. My name is Charlotte, but my friends call me Charlie. I prefer Charlie. And if you don’t have a ride, I would gladly take you anywhere you want to go. And the sooner, the better. It’s almost midnight, and I’ve had a hell of a day.”

“Thank you, Charlie.” Declan squared his shoulders. “I don’t need a ride,” he lied, unwilling to admit he was homeless, possessionless and broke.

“Then we’ll wait until your ride arrives.” The woman looked around, found a chair and promptly sat.

“You don’t have to wait,” Declan said. Appalled that he would be caught out in his lie.

“I want to make sure the police don’t decide to reacquire their prisoner.” She glared at the nearest officer. “He’s not one of the terrorists who attacked me,” she reiterated.

The officer held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not saying he is, but we can’t have a crowd in the building. We have work to do.”

The older woman harrumphed and rose to her feet. “Fine, we’ll wait outside for Mr. O’Neill’s transportation to arrive.” She nodded toward the four men in suits. “Come along.”

Charlie led the way to the exit. Before she could open the door, Declan stepped in front of her. “Let me,” he said.

Charlie smiled. “Such a gentleman.”

“No, ma’am.” He stepped through the door and closed it in her face. After scanning the area around them, he turned and opened the door for her to come out.

She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a frown wrinkling her brow. She leveled her glare at the men in suits. “You should have gone out first and checked for potential attackers. Instead, you let this young man do it for you.” She flicked her fingers. “You’re all fired.”

The men in suits frowned. One of them stepped forward. “But—”

Charlie held up her hand. “Uh, uh, uh,” she said. “No excuses. You may go home. I won’t be needing your services.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a one-hundred-dollar bill and handed it to the man who appeared to be in charge. “To get you back to your own transportation.”

The man took the bill and left with the other three to find a taxi back to wherever they’d parked their vehicles.

Charlie sighed. “Now what am I supposed to do?” She gave Declan a bright smile. “I don’t suppose you would like to come to work for me, providing my protection?”

A job? Declan didn’t want to appear too needy, but hell, he’d just been offered a job.

“What exactly would it entail?”

“Oh, I don’t necessarily want you to be a bodyguard. However, I’d want you to be in charge of hiring a bodyguard for me, or four or five. I lost three good men today. And two more are in the hospital, fighting for their lives. I’m tired of terrorists getting away with murder, and the authorities are doing so very little about it.

“And after I’m situated with personal protection, I might want you to do a lot more.”

“More what?”

“More making things right where they’ve gone completely wrong.”

He held up his hands. “I’m not into being a vigilante.”

“And I’m not into spending years on red tape and bureaucratic nonsense while good, honest people are taking the fall, literally. Like today. Not that I’m all that good or honest, but what happened shouldn’t have.”

“Why did it happen? What did they want with you?”

“I’m sure they were going to hold me for ransom or some such nonsense. I’m loaded. Everyone always wants to get their hands on my money. Hell, if they asked for it nicely, I’d probably give it to them.” Charlie waved her hand. “You haven’t answered my question. Do you want a job or not?”

He wanted one, even if it was with a slightly deranged older woman. But she had to know the truth about him. “Don’t you want to see my résumé, do a background check, see if I have a criminal record?”

She ran her gaze from his head to his toes. “I’ve seen all I need to see.”

He bristled at her perusal. “I’m not a gigolo.”

She laughed out loud. “Now, that conjures way too many tempting thoughts.” Her smile faded. “Not that you’re hard to look at. But I loved my dearly departed husband completely, despite what the tabloids might have said. I don’t anticipate any man filling his shoes anytime soon, if at all.”

With the possibility of being hired as a sex toy cleared up, Declan still had one more obstacle. “I was dishonorably discharged from the US Marine Corps.” There, he said it flat out. It still hurt to say the words. He’d put his entire life into his career as a Force Recon marine.

Charlie slipped her purse over her shoulder. “I know.”

Declan stared at the woman, shocked. “You know?”

“You don’t think I’d offer you a job if I didn’t know what I was getting into, do you?” She looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“No, ma’am.”

“Charlotte or Charlie. Not ma’am.” She held out her hand. “You’re coming to work for me?”

He hesitated only a moment longer before taking her hand. “Yes, ma’—” he took her hand “—Charlie.”

“How soon can you start?” she asked.

“As soon as you want me,” he said. “Preferably sooner than later. I don’t have a ride and the five dollars in my wallet is going toward a hamburger.”

“Dear Lord, why didn’t you say so?” She nodded toward the parking lot. “I’m hungry, too. I haven’t had a decent hamburger since I hired a French chef. It’s well past time to indulge.” She held out her arm.

Declan gripped her elbow and glanced at the parking lot, where a long black limousine stood, blocking police cruisers into their parking spaces. He chuckled. “I’m surprised you don’t have a handful of tickets on that boat.”

“I left my driver in the driver’s seat for just such an occasion.” She waited for him to open the door before slipping inside. Charlie patted the seat beside her. “I’d feel better if you rode back here with me. Although, you might not want to. My other bodyguards—God rest their souls—didn’t fare well earlier today.” Her smile dipped into a frown. “Those bastards deserve to die for killing my men and all of those innocent bystanders.”

Declan slid into the back seat, next to Charlie.

She captured his gaze with a shadowed gray one of her own. “Don’t you see? Those are the kinds of wrongs I want to right. I have more money than I could ever spend. I want to do something to help others. If it means going around the law to see it’s done right...so be it.”

“I’m not in the habit of breaking the law, despite my lousy military record,” he warned her.

“I’m not asking you to break the law. Maybe bend a few rules, but not exactly break the law.” She reached for his hand. “Sometimes the authorities get in the way of justice or let people off who we know good and well are as guilty as sin. I’ve seen it happen more often than I’d care to admit. Someone like me, with more money than sense, buys his way out of jail or buys his son or daughter’s way out of serving time. No one should get away with murder.” Her hand clutched his tightly.

“Why are you so passionate about this?” he asked.

For a moment, she stared down at his hand. Then she released it and stared out the window. “My husband was murdered. The police got nowhere. No matter how much money I threw at private investigators, they couldn’t tell me who pulled the trigger. I know how I felt, losing my husband, who should have been around to grow older with me. I don’t want others to have to go through what I did.”

“I’ll work for you and do what I can,” Declan said. “But I won’t break the law.”

“Unless you have to in order to save a life,” Charlie said. “I had to pay a big bribe to get you out of hot water for using that submachine gun.”

Declan hadn’t considered the fact he might have been breaking the law when he took up the gun.

Charlie nodded with a smug smile. “That’s right. Possessing that kind of weapon isn’t legal in DC.”

Declan cursed beneath his breath. “I didn’t know. All I was worried about was saving you.”

“I know that, and you know that.” She sighed. “But the law is clear. If you’re caught in possession of a submachine gun, you can be thrown in jail. Again, some rules are meant to be bent. You wouldn’t have saved my life if you hadn’t snagged that man’s weapon and used it on his cohorts.”

Declan had once again backed himself into a corner of his own doing. If not for Charlie’s ability to sway the police force with a sizable contribution, he wouldn’t be free. He’d be sitting on a hard cot in a cell. “How much do I owe you? All I can do is work it off.”

Charlie touched his arm. “No, dear. I owe you my life. The least I could do was make sure you weren’t blamed for something you didn’t do.” She pressed a button on the armrest and the window between the driver and the rear of the vehicle slid downward.

“Carl, could you stop at the next corner? I believe there’s a hamburger establishment there.”

“Excuse me?” Carl glanced back at them through the rearview mirror, his expression incredulous. “Hamburger?”

“You heard me. And not one word to Francois, my chef. He would be appalled to know I had eaten something as banal as a hamburger with extra onions and pickles.”

Declan sat back against the seat, wondering just who this woman was and why she’d decided to hire him on the spur of the moment.

He was grateful for the opportunity to work and earn an honest paycheck, but he wondered if there was more to Charlie than met the eye.

Time would tell. For now, Declan was grateful for the wealthy woman and the hamburgers they ordered at the drive-through window. Or rather, the hamburgers the driver ordered, paid for and received on their behalf.

Declan leaned across the seats to grab the bag of burgers and fries, the scent nearly crippling him, he was so hungry.

The next few minutes were spent in silence as Charlotte, Declan and the driver consumed the food, washing it down with iced tea.

When Charlie asked where Declan lived, he knew it was useless to lie. “I’m new in town,” he said, avoiding an answer rather than attempting a lie.

“Oh, so you haven’t had time to check into a hotel?”

“No, ma’am...er... Charlie. But I’ll be fine.”

“Getting a hotel at this late hour can be hit and miss.” She talked to the driver by using the intercom. “Carl, take us home.” Charlie patted Declan’s arm. “You’ll stay at my house until you can get a place of your own. I’ll start you out with funds to set you up in an apartment as part of your pay.”

Declan stiffened. “I can’t accept your charity.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call it charity.” She sat back on the leather seat. “You will be earning your pay in my employ.” She patted her belly. “And that was perhaps the best hamburger I’ve had in a very long time.”

“Charlie, I can’t do this. I’ve never in my life taken advantage of a woman’s generosity.”

She lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him. “Oh, believe me, I have plans for you. You’ll earn every dime working for Halverson Enterprises.”

With no other choices to fall back on, Declan squared his shoulders and faced his future.

Chapter Three

Grace stood outside of the Halverson Enterprises building near K Street at 8:20 a.m., feeling like she’d been hit by a truck, and probably looking like it. She’d spent the majority of the night retracing what she would have thought would be Riley’s route on her way home the evening before.

The guard at the gate to Riley’s office complex had refused to let her in, insisting that the building was closed for the night. She’d have to return in the morning and talk with the security supervisor. He didn’t seem to understand that the morning might be too late. The train held no clues as to Riley’s whereabouts, and the path between the office complex and the train was clean of any traces of Grace’s roommate.

The police had done a perfunctory investigation, running into the same issues as Grace and coming up as empty-handed as she had, and they hadn’t contacted her in the past three hours.

She’d even tried calling Riley’s supervisor. But all she had was his work number. The connection went straight to his voice mail.

Riley was missing, and Grace had an interview for a job she could care less about as long as her friend and roommate remained missing. Still, she could have stayed at her apartment and hoped Riley would stroll through the door, announcing she’d spent the night with a hot guy she met at a bar. But the waiting would have killed Grace.

Instead, she’d showered, blow-dried her hair and applied a minimal amount of makeup. Dressed in a tailored skirt suit, she’d tucked her cell phone in her purse and left the ringtone on high in case Riley actually called. Grace didn’t care if she was in an interview or a meeting with the President of the United States—she’d answer the phone.

After taking a deep breath, she strode through the glass doors and stepped up to the reception desk.

The woman took her driver’s license and handed her a visitor’s pass. “Mrs. Halverson is expecting you.”

Tears welled in Grace’s eyes and she almost turned around and ran.

“It’s okay,” the woman at the reception desk whispered. “Mrs. Halverson is a really nice lady. You’ll do fine.”

Blinking to clear her vision, Grace nodded.

“Twelfth floor, straight out of the elevator. Her secretary will greet you.”

“Thank you.” Grace choked on her words and turned toward the elevator.

The receptionist held out a tissue. “You might want this.” She gave her a warm smile. “Really, she’s nice.”

Grace nearly lost her composure there, but held it together long enough to make it into the elevator, where she waited until the door closed before she let the tears fall. But only a few. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to read the screen on her cell phone if she cried too much.

For the hundredth time, she checked for text messages from Riley.

Nothing.

The floor numbers flashed green on the display panel as the elevator car rose to the top of the office building.

Grace dabbed at her eyes, sure her mascara was running by now. What a great impression she’d make on Mrs. Halverson, a sobbing, hot mess of a woman in a wrinkled suit, with red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose.

Grace didn’t care. Riley was still missing.

The elevator stopped.

As the doors opened, Grace jabbed at the buttons to go back down, but it was too late. Mrs. Halverson’s secretary spotted her and smiled. “Miss Lawrence, I’m so glad you could make it after we stood you up yesterday. I’m Margaret Berkman.” She rounded to the front of her desk and held out her hand.

Short of being completely rude, Grace was forced to step out of the elevator, cross to the secretary’s desk and shake the woman’s hand. “You didn’t stand me up. I was caught up in the shooting yesterday. I didn’t even make it to this building.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, dear. You will have so much to share with Mrs. Halverson. She was there, too.” The secretary turned toward the door behind her. “Come with me.”

“If she was there yesterday, perhaps now isn’t a good time to conduct this interview.” The timing was terrible for Grace. She felt as if she would break down at any moment.

“Mrs. Halverson was looking forward to meeting you. I’m sure she will be fine.”

Mrs. Halverson might be fine, but Grace certainly wasn’t.

She squared her shoulders, glanced at her cell-phone screen again and followed Margaret into a spacious office with a wide solid-mahogany desk. A gray-haired woman sat with her back to the door, staring out at the buildings making up the skyline of Washington, DC.

When Mrs. Halverson turned, she smiled and pushed to her feet. “Miss Lawrence, so very nice to meet you.”

Grace gasped. The woman was the same one who’d been yanked out of the limousine the day before and hauled into the kidnapper’s van. “You...you were the one.”

Mrs. Halverson frowned. “Pardon me?”

Grace shook her head slowly. “You were the woman at the shooting yesterday. The one they tried to kidnap.”

Mrs. Halverson clasped Grace’s hand in hers and nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Yes, that was me. But that was yesterday, and I prefer to push it out of my thoughts. Horrible event. Just horrible.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “You’re here to interview for the position of personal assistant, am I right?”

Grace didn’t move from where she stood, her mind spinning with the frightening memories of the day before. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, a shadow crossing her face. “But I lost some good men in that disaster. Fine men with families.”

“They didn’t hurt you?” Grace asked.

Mrs. Halverson smiled. “Thankfully, a nice young man rescued me from the kidnappers before they could take me to parts unknown.” She frowned and stared at Grace. “You were there?”

Grace nodded. “I was. I think the man who rescued you saved me before he went after you.”

Mrs. Halverson’s lips twitched upward. “Sounds like what he would do. That young man doesn’t think about his own safety. He’s too busy saving everyone else. And the police had the nerve to arrest him.”

So, that’s what had happened to him after he’d left his backpack in Grace’s care.

“But enough about me. Tell me about you,” Mrs. Halverson said. She waved a hand toward several leather chairs arranged around a low coffee table.

Grace shook her head. “I... I can’t do this.”

“Do what? Have a conversation with me?” Mrs. Halverson took Grace’s arm. “I tell you, I’m okay. I really need a personal assistant. Otherwise I’d reschedule.”

“You don’t understand.” Grace pulled her arm free of Mrs. Halverson’s grip. “Yesterday was bad on more levels than just the attack downtown.” She shook her head, her heart pinching hard inside her chest. “My roommate didn’t come home last night. I’ve been worried sick and combing the streets, looking for her.” The tears welled again and some spilled over, sliding down her cheek. “Mrs. Halverson, I’m afraid I can’t do this interview.”

Mrs. Halverson drew Grace into her arms and led her to a sofa. She settled her there and held her at arm’s length. “Tell me what happened. When did she go missing?”

Grace told her what she knew, where she’d gone and how she’d contacted the police. Tears slipped from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.

The older woman shook her head. “I’m sorry about your friend. I’d be worried, too.” She lifted Grace’s chin and stared into her eyes. “But you’ve come to the right place. I think I might be able to help.”

Grace laughed, her voice choking on a sob. “How can you help? The police couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t find her.” She sucked in a shaky breath and let it out. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Mrs. Halverson patted her hand. “I know someone who might be of assistance. And this is just the kind of thing I hired him for.”

“You do?” Using the tissue the receptionist had given her, Grace scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “Who?”

Mrs. Halverson stood. “You stay right there.” She walked to the door, poked her head out and said, “Send in my new hire. I have a job for him.”

Mrs. Halverson returned to the couch and drew Grace to her feet. “I’m sure he’ll be able to help you. He’s a trained warrior and quite good at it.”

“A warrior?” Grace shook her head. “I need a tracking dog.”

“I’m sure he can do that. He’s pretty versatile.” She smiled and looked past Grace. “Ah, there you are.” Mrs. Halverson turned toward the door. “Declan, meet Grace Lawrence.”

Grace turned and her jaw dropped. She knew this man.

Mrs. Halverson continued. “Grace, this is Declan—”

“O’Neill,” Grace finished.

The older woman frowned. “You know each other?”

Declan nodded while Grace shook her head.

“I have your rucksack,” Grace said. “I didn’t know how to find you.”

“I tried to call my cell phone, but the battery must have died.” He held out his hand. “What were the chances we’d find each other here?”

Mrs. Halverson shrugged. “Since you two know each other, I’ll leave you both to the task of finding Miss Lawrence’s roommate. I have a lot to do.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, a shadow passing over her face. “Arranging for the funerals of my bodyguards.” She stared at Grace. “As for the job—are you still interested?”

Grace nodded. “I am, but I need to find my roommate before I can get my head on straight.”

Mrs. Halverson shook her head. “You need to get your head on straight to find your roommate. Once you do, come back for that interview. I still need an assistant, but I can wait.” She nodded to Declan O’Neill. “Now that you’ve located your rucksack and phone, you can contact your friends. I’m sure they’ll make fine additions and can assist you in our new venture. Remind me, we need to come up with a name for your team.”

“Yes, ma’am—” O’Neill caught himself and smiled. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll do my best to help Miss Lawrence.”

“Now, if you’ll clear out of my office,” Mrs. Halverson said, “I have some calls to make. Keep me up to date on your discoveries.”

“We will,” O’Neill said. He hooked Grace’s arm and led her out of the office.

Mrs. Halverson’s secretary stood as they closed the door behind them. “How did the interview go?” Margaret asked with a smile.

“It didn’t,” Grace responded.

Margaret’s smile fell. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’m sure she has her reasons, but I was hoping she’d find an assistant. She really needs one.”

Grace gave her a gentle smile. “The interview has been postponed. I’ll be back soon.” She glanced up at the man Mrs. Halverson had called Declan O’Neill. “In the meantime, Mr. O’Neill and I have work to do.”

She didn’t know this man from Adam, but having witnessed his military prowess under the stress of being fired upon, she had no doubt he’d be of some assistance. And knowing she had someone to help her find Riley made her more optimistic than she’d been since her roommate had gone missing.

The secondary fact that O’Neill was muscular, ruggedly handsome and skilled with his hands made Grace quiver inside. Not that he’d use those hands on her. Preferably, he’d use them to take down whoever had snatched Riley and make him pay for any harm that might have come to her friend.

“Where do you want to start?” he asked.

“Where she works,” Grace said. “They wouldn’t let me in last night.”

“We can do a preliminary call to her supervisor and ask what time she actually walked out of the building,” O’Neill said.

Grace nodded. “And if that doesn’t help, we can ask the people at the front desk when she came through,” Grace suggested.

“After that?” he asked.

“I don’t know what else to do other than canvass the train station at the time she would have been there. I have a recent photograph of her on my cell phone. We can ask people getting on and off the train if they saw her last night.”

O’Neill led the way to the elevator, punched the down button and then turned to face her. “We can also check with the train service to see if they have video cameras and historical data we can go through.”

“Good thinking,” Grace said.

The elevator door slid open and Grace stepped inside.

Her newly assigned private investigator stepped in beside her.

O’Neill’s broad shoulders made the elevator feel so much smaller and seemed to suck the air right out of her lungs.

She focused on what was important, her missing roommate. But that didn’t keep the heat from rising beneath the starched collar of her shirt.

Sure, a man like O’Neill could turn any woman’s head. But Grace had been divorced for three years, and her husband had been hot. Maybe not muscular, he-man hot like O’Neill, but he’d turned his share of heads and ruffled a few female skirts before he’d asked Grace to marry him.

She’d been flattered and fancied herself in love with him. And then he’d changed. Perhaps changed wasn’t exactly right. His true colors came through. Mitchell had been full of himself and wrapped up in his business as a high-powered financial planner. He’d wanted everything his way, never considering Grace’s needs and desires. She’d gone along with his plans at first, but no more. She wouldn’t be cowed by any man ever again.

Grace could admire the beauty of nature in a handsome man, but she didn’t have to pluck the flower or sip the nectar. She performed an internal eye-roll. As she’d told Mrs. Halverson, she had to get her head on straight. What was important was finding Riley.

The elevator door opened and Grace practically jumped out. As she did, her cell phone rang. Her heart racing, she dug in her purse, her hands shaking so much that she couldn’t get them to work.

“Good grief,” Declan said. “Give it to me.” He took the purse, dug his hand in, found the phone and hit the answer key. Then he handed it to Grace.

She shot a glance at the screen but didn’t recognize the number. Grace pressed the phone to her ear, praying whoever it was would have news of her friend. “Hello?”

“Grace Lawrence?”

“That’s me.”

“This is Sergeant Kronkski with the DC Metropolitan Police Department.”

Grace’s heart stopped beating. “Go on,” she whispered, her breath lodging like a knot in her throat.

“We just wanted to keep you up to date on your missing person’s report.”

“Have you found Riley?” she asked, her hand gripping the cell phone tightly.

“No, ma’am. We haven’t. You said the last place you had contact with her was from her place of employment yesterday?”

“That’s right. I told the officer on duty that last night.”

“We sent a unit by her office complex this morning. They have no record of her being at work yesterday. She didn’t clock in.”

Grace frowned, her gaze going to Declan.

He took the phone and punched the speaker key before handing it back to her.

“What do you mean, she never clocked in? She texted me from work yesterday morning. Riley never missed a day of work, even when she was sick.”

“That’s what we were told. Her supervisor confirmed she never arrived at the office yesterday.”

“That can’t be right,” Grace said, shaking her head, though the sergeant wouldn’t see the effect. “She went to work like always and texted me that she would be leaving on time.”

“Some people live secret lives,” the sergeant said. “Perhaps she has another job you don’t know about?”

“No way. Riley doesn’t keep secrets from me. We’re friends from our first year in college.”

“I can only tell you what we learned,” the sergeant said. “Is there anywhere else she might have gone? To see family? A friend? A boyfriend?”

Grace’s lips pressed together. “She said she was coming home. She has no other family in the country but me, her roommate. Her parents are on a world cruise, out of touch most of the time. She’s not married and, as far as I know, she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Okay, I get it,” the sergeant said. “But these are the questions I have to ask. More often than not, missing people haven’t been abducted. They’ve ducked out of sight, either running from the law or needing some space.”

“I know my roommate,” Grace said. “She wouldn’t have told me she was coming home and then not shown up without calling to say why. She’s conscientious and considerate like that. If she’d been detained or changed her mind, she would have called or texted me to let me know she was all right.”

“I’m sorry we don’t have more news, but I wanted to let you know where we stood. We have her picture out to all the street units now. If they see her, you’ll be notified.”

Grace let go of the breath she’d been holding. Getting mad at the cops wasn’t conducive to securing their help in finding Riley. Grace sucked it up and thanked the sergeant. “I appreciate the update and look forward to hearing from you soon.” Really soon. Riley’s life could depend on it.

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