Tess kept her eyes closed. She had no idea how or why this miracle had occurred, but she didn’t want it to end.

His voice was a whisper. “Tess, I need to—”

“Don’t talk.”

For five long and desperate years, she’d been alone. She was a widow, a single mom. Those years were a famine. And now, she was hungry. She wanted to touch every part of him—on the inside and on the surface. He was back. Joe had come back to her.

Am I losing my mind? Logically, this could not be. She reached higher until she was holding his face in her hands. Eyes still closed, she kissed him again. Oh my God, it was him. She knew. Without the slightest doubt, she knew. He was the love of her life, her soul mate, the father of her son.

Baby Battalion
Cassie Miles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Though born in Chicago and raised in L.A., Cassie Miles has lived in Colorado long enough to be considered a semi-native. The first home she owned was a log cabin in the mountains overlooking Elk Creek, with a thirty-mile commute to her work at the Denver Post.

After raising two daughters and cooking tons of macaroni and cheese for her family, Cassie is trying to be more adventurous in her culinary efforts. Ceviche, anyone? She’s discovered that almost anything tastes better with wine. When she’s not plotting Harlequin Intrigue books, Cassie likes to hang out at the Denver Botanical Gardens near her high-rise home.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Tess Donovan —A single mom and successful events planner in Washington, D.C., she was widowed five years ago.

Nolan Law —Scarred by battle injuries, he was the first man hired for CSaI and usually takes charge.

Joe Donovan —Tess’s deceased husband and the love of her life.

Joey Donovan —The 4-year-old son of Tess and Joe, he was born after his father died.

Trudy Bensen —The office manager and assistant for Tess’s business.

Bart Bellows —The 75-year-old founder of CSaI, who has been kidnapped.

Victor Bellows —Bart’s son is supposedly MIA.

Wes Bradley —The alias used by Victor Bellows.

Lila Lockhart —The Governor of Texas hired Tess to plan her event at the Smithsonian.

Stacy Giordano —The governor’s aide keeps everything running smoothly.

Zachary Giordano —Stacy’s son.

Omar Harris —Nolan’s CIA contact.

The Zamir family —Clients who use Tess to plan events.

Pierre LeBrun —The haughty chef is nothing but trouble for Tess in her event planning.

Greenaway —A powerful drug and weapons dealer who has sworn to take violent revenge on Bart Bellows and Joe Donovan.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter One

Five years after her husband’s death, Tess Donovan still sometimes imagined that she heard the sound of his laughter in a crowd. Whenever she saw a marine in dress blues, she remembered Joe standing at attention—so handsome with his perfect profile and fine features. If he hadn’t been involved in so many secret operations, they could have used his gorgeous face for recruitment posters.

Her cab drove along Constitution Avenue, and she peered through the rear window, trying to see the National Christmas Tree in the Ellipse outside the White House. During the holiday season, she missed Joe like crazy. They had always attended the ceremonial lighting of the tree. They’d shopped together for presents, danced together at dozens of holiday galas. Their Christmases had been all about silver bells and snowball fights and hot buttered rum in front of the fireplace.

That was then. This was now.

She sank back in the seat. Starting with the New Year, she vowed to get on with her life. Not that she’d been standing still for five years. As the single mother of a four-and-a-half-year-old son, she seldom got the chance to sit down, and her small catering business had grown into a successful event-planning enterprise. When it came to mothering and working, she was holding her own. It was her personal life that sucked. In five years, she’d only been on a handful of dates, none of which had turned out well. None of those men were Joe.

This year would be different. She’d give herself the chance to meet a special man. It shouldn’t be that hard; she was only thirty-two and not bad looking, with black hair and blue eyes. She deserved a mate. And her son deserved a father.

Exiting her cab outside the National Museum of American History, she heard a group of strolling carolers. The tenor sounded just like Joe; he had loved to belt out a rock-and-roll version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”

Dusk came early in December. She glanced over her shoulder toward the towering Washington Monument, already lit and gleaming. Then she saw something that made her look twice. Her eyes were lying. This couldn’t be. She looked again.

There he was. Joe was walking toward her. She recognized his square shoulders and long stride. In spite of the chill, his trench coat was unbuttoned. He had never minded the cold.

The rational part of her mind told her that she was wrong. Joe was dead, buried at Arlington. But she couldn’t control her imagination. Her heart skipped. Her fingers lost their grip on her briefcase.

She wanted to run to him and throw herself into his arms. He’d lift her off the sidewalk and twirl her in a circle. And they’d be happy again.

As he came closer, she stared—knowing that he wasn’t Joe but hoping for a miracle. He was less than ten feet from her. Their gazes locked, and she saw him clearly. His was the face of a stranger—a young man in his early twenties. Joe would have been thirty-eight by now. Clearly, she was losing her mind.

The stranger smiled politely, picked up her briefcase and placed it in her hands. “Merry Christmas,” he said.

“Same to you.”

Not Joe, he wasn’t Joe, of course, he wasn’t. Though she felt like melting into a weepy puddle on the sidewalk, Tess pulled herself together. She straightened the lapels on her burgundy wool winter coat, tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears and firmly grasped the handle of her briefcase as she ascended the stairs into the museum. With every stride across the marble floors, the heels of her sensible black pumps clicked, and she gathered herself. She couldn’t afford to act like a delusional, sentimental mess.

This was business.

In less than a week, on Christmas Eve, Tess was responsible for a sit-down dinner for three hundred in the second floor Flag Hall. The sponsor of this event—Governor Lila Lockhart of Texas—was celebrating the donation of several artifacts to the Smithsonian as well as thanking some of the top donors to Texans in Congress. Tess had never handled such a prestigious event, and she wanted to get every detail right.

In the waiting area outside the office of the Special Events Coordinator, she greeted the governor’s aide, Stacy Giordano, with a hug. A curvy brunette with incredibly long legs, Stacy was glowing in her first trimester of pregnancy. Her wedding was scheduled for New Year’s Eve in Texas, and Tess had used her contacts to arrange for a fabulous five-tiered cake.

“How’s your little boy?” Tess asked.

“Doing better than I am. Morning sickness is no fun.”

The last time they’d met, she and Stacy had talked about their kids, who were almost the same age. Stacy’s son was autistic. “Did you bring him along on this trip?”

“He’s here. We’re staying with Lila’s family at the Pierpont House in Arlington.”

Tess’s home and office were in Arlington, and she was familiar with the Pierpont—a Colonial-style mansion used by visiting dignitaries. The house came with its own maids and cooks. “Nice place. Has Governor Lockhart arrived?”

“Not yet. She won’t be here until the day before the event. I came with Harlan.” When she spoke the name of her fiancé, Stacy’s cheeks flushed a bright, happy red. “He’s setting up security at the Pierpont and for the event. His concerns are the reason for this meeting.”

“How so?”

“He wants blueprints for the museum so he can check all entrances and exits, including the basement storage areas.”

This request might be difficult to fulfill. Homeland Security got very nervous when it came to protecting national treasures like those that were housed in the museum. “I’m not sure if we can get clearance.”

“Not even for Corps Security and Investigations?”

“If it was up to me, no problem.”

Tess respected the reputation of CSaI, a private security firm based in Freedom, Texas. All the operatives were highly-trained, former military men. For the past several months while protecting Governor Lockhart, CSaI had dealt with death threats, bombings and snipers. From what Tess had heard, their actions had been competent and skillful.

The real reason she held CSaI in high regard was their founder—Bart Bellows. The 75-year-old Bellows was a Vietnam vet, a former CIA agent, a billionaire and the kindest man she’d ever known.

When Joe first went missing, Bellows had contacted her. Though he couldn’t tell her Joe’s assignment, he’d given her the impression that her husband had been vital in disarming a terrible threat to national security. Joe was a hero. But she’d already known that.

Instead of merely offering sympathy, Bart had stayed close to her for several days. In spite of his wheelchair, he’d helped in her catering kitchen. It was Bart who had notified her of Joe’s death and arranged for him to be buried at Arlington. He’d also sorted through the mountains of paperwork to make sure she received the proper benefits and the payouts from other insurance policies. Bart had been with her in the hospital four months later when Joey was born.

She thought of him as her guardian angel, but he wasn’t all sweetness and light. More than once, he’d dragged her out of depression and forced her to stand on her own two feet.

While acknowledging her grief, he encouraged her potential. Her move from catering into the more lucrative field of event planning came as a result of his contacts. In fact, he was the person who’d recommended her to Governor Lockhart.

For the past several weeks, Bart had been missing. When she thought of what might be happening to him, she shuddered. He was such a good man. Life truly was unfair. “Any news on Bart?”

“The guys have a couple of promising leads. If anyone can rescue him, they can.”

Tess hoped and prayed that Stacy was right.

NOLAN LAW PEERED through his infrared, night vision goggles at an isolated flat-roof metal warehouse located eighteen miles outside Austin. A big, black Cadillac pulled up and parked outside the building. The Caddy cut its lights. Nobody got out.

From his surveillance position on a low ridge under the spreading branches of a live oak, Nolan could see a long way down the two-lane road leading to this warehouse. Another vehicle approached—an SUV. He parked behind the Caddy. Four armed men emerged and dispersed, setting up a perimeter at the four corners of the small warehouse with only one loading dock.

Through his ear bud, Nolan heard the smooth, calm voice of Wade Coltrane. “Is that everybody that’s coming to the party?”

“Don’t know.” Nolan glanced to his left. He knew Coltrane was out there, but the man was invisible. “I didn’t send out the invites.”

The third man in their attack group, Nick Cavanaugh, said, “If we’d gotten here sooner, I could have set up some explosive charges inside.”

“I should think you had enough of bombs,” Nolan said. Last month, Cavanaugh and his lady had nearly been blown to bits by an explosive device in her son’s day care center.

“I’m just saying,” Cavanaugh muttered. “More time would have made this easier.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” Nolan had gotten his intel from their CIA contact less than an hour ago. They’d been short on time, lucky to beat the Caddy and hide their Jeep in a gully behind the ridge.

The doors to the Caddy swung open. Two more bodyguards in dark windbreakers emerged from the front. From the back came a man in a suit with a white shirt that gleamed in the moonlight. On his arm was a blonde woman in a short, tight, red dress. Her presence was unexpected and would require an adjustment in strategy.

The suit and the woman went up the concrete stairs to an office door beside the loading dock and went inside. A single light over the door went on, casting a glow on the two men in windbreakers who stood directly outside.

“Hold your positions,” Nolan said. “Let’s give them half an hour to settle down.”

The man in the suit was Robby Jessop, a shady defense contractor, who was likely using this warehouse to stash contraband weapons. Locating Jessop was the best lead CSaI had uncovered in their search for Bart Bellows, and Nolan didn’t want to blow this opportunity.

He lowered himself to the ground and stretched out on his belly. On a night like this when the moon was half full, he wouldn’t be seen with the naked eye. His dark cargo pants, jacket and dark knit cap blended into the shadows. But he wasn’t taking any chances. One of the bodyguards might be smart enough to have night vision goggles of his own.

If it was the last thing he ever did, Nolan would find Bart Bellows. Over a month ago, the old man and his handicapped van had disappeared without a trace or a clue. His driver had been shot and killed, leaving no witness.

Nolan believed the old man was still alive. If Bart’s enemies wanted him dead, they would have acted long before this. They’d kidnapped Bart for a reason and would hold him until they got what they wanted—whatever the hell that was.

The lack of apparent motive made CSaI’s search intensely complicated. Bart had lived a long life and had ticked off a lot of scary people. Operating under the assumption that his abduction was related to his former career in the CIA, Nolan and the rest of the men in Corps Security and Investigations fought their way through a tangle of bureaucratic red tape to get secret documents declassified. They tracked down dozens of agents who could brief them on current situations that stemmed from Bart’s former cases.

Nolan’s best contact turned out to be a spy named Omar Harris who had his Irish-American father’s sense of humor and his Afghani mother’s courage. Omar gave him Jessop’s name and told him that the defense contractor was involved in smuggling weapons and the opium trade in Afghanistan. It was Omar who arranged for Jessop to be at the warehouse outside Austin tonight. The defense contractor thought he was meeting with a warlord who would pay a cool million for their next deal.

Instead, Jessop was going to run into the three-man offense of Nolan, Coltrane and Cavanaugh—three former military men who had served with pride and distinction until they’d been recruited by Bart Bellows for his elite security company.

Poor little Robby Jessop didn’t stand a chance.

Through his night vision goggles, Nolan scanned the area. The guard at the north side of the building was smoking a cigar. Both of the men nearest the warehouse door were texting on their cell phones.

None of them were paying attention.

All were distracted.

Taking them down would be cake.

“Are we ready?” Cavanaugh asked.

“I’ll take the two men on the north side of the building,” Nolan said. “You boys take care of the other side.”

“What about the two by the door?”

“We’ll use a flash-bang to get their attention, and then converge on them.”

Nolan rolled onto his back and checked his weapons. The most dangerous part of this mission would be when they entered the warehouse. They were all wearing Kevlar, but Jessop would be waiting for them.

“Use your stun guns,” Nolan said. “We’re not here to kill anybody. We came to talk. Okay, let’s rock and roll.”

He crept through the night. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, heightening his senses and masking the ever-present ache from old wounds. He’d learned to endure the physical pain from injuries he’d suffered five years ago in Afghanistan, when his platoon was hit by a chopper strike and a roadside bomb. The emotional hurt was deeper, more intense, unrelieved by the passage of time.

Five years ago, Nolan Law had been a different man. Handsome and strong, his life had been filled with promise. His beautiful, loving wife had been pregnant. God, he missed Tess. He missed the son he’d never held in his arms, missed the life he should have had.

Nolan shook his head, pushing aside the regrets and the memories. There was no going back. He wasn’t that man anymore. Joe Donovan was dead.

Chapter Two

Nolan circled the warehouse. The man on the far north side sat on the ground with his back leaning against the building. His gun was holstered, and his eyes were closed. Nolan deepened his nap with a blow that rendered him unconscious and then fastened the guard’s wrists with a plastic tie.

The guy with the cigar was an equally easy takedown using a stun gun and a threat. “Make one sound and I’ll shoot off your kneecap.”

Nolan picked up the guard’s gun—a sleek black repeating rifle in the newest generation of M40s. The fine weapon illustrated how being well-armed didn’t matter as much as being well-disciplined. Any of the men in CSaI were capable of protecting a perimeter with nothing but a slingshot and a pocket knife.

As he moved to the corner of the warehouse, he heard a whisper from Cavanaugh, “We’re in position.”

“Do it.”

When fired, a flash-bang emitted smoke, made a loud explosion and a blinding burst of light. The grenade-size device was more effective when used in an enclosed space, but the noise and flare would provide enough of a distraction for them to move on the guards at the front of the building.

Nolan averted his gaze so he wouldn’t be blinded. As soon as he heard the bang, he ran at the guards. Before they could drop their cell phones and aim their weapons, the two men in dark windbreakers were down.

Nolan issued orders. “Cavanaugh, stay here, watch these guys. Coltrane, inside.”

At the door to the warehouse, Nolan didn’t hesitate. He kicked open the door, lobbed a smoke bomb inside and dove out of the way.

A volley of bullets from an automatic weapon sprayed through the doorway.

He heard the woman scream.

There was a lot of coughing. Another spurt of gunfire. More coughing.

Nolan and Coltrane used their infrared goggles to keep their vision clear. Coltrane held his rifle. Nolan had his stun gun and the guard’s M40. They charged through the door into the warehouse.

It wasn’t necessary to map out their strategy beforehand. They were both experienced military men who knew how to secure a building. Nolan went toward the right. Coltrane went left.

The warehouse was poorly lit with only a few bare bulbs. Through the smoke, Nolan saw an array of wooden crates, none of them stacked higher than his waist. Robby Jessop batted at the smoke and fired blindly. The woman had curled up on the concrete floor beside a desk.

“Who the hell are you?” Jessop yelled. “What do you want?”

Hiding behind crates, Nolan got within ten feet of Jessop before he made his move. It would have been tidier to zap him with the stun gun, but he wanted Jessop to be coherent and able to talk. That was the whole point.

When Jessop turned away from him, Nolan moved fast. He delivered a rabbit punch to the kidneys, tore the weapon from Jessop’s hands and knocked him face down onto the concrete. When he had Jessop’s wrists secured, he pulled him up and marched him through the warehouse.

“Don’t hurt me,” Jessop wailed. “I can pay. Just don’t hurt me.”

He was a coward. Good. He’d be too scared to hold out.

It had already been agreed that Coltrane would take the lead in the interrogation. His specialty was infiltration into enemy situations. Not only did he know what questions to ask, but he was smooth enough to convince Jessop to trust him.

Nolan wasn’t so glib, and his physical appearance was anything but charming. He didn’t frighten little children, not anymore. But the facial reconstruction after his injuries had been extensive. He looked like a man who had been to hell and carried the scars.

While Cavanaugh kept watch over the six guards, Nolan brought Jessop around to the other side of his Caddy and shoved him down on his butt. “Don’t move.”

“I’m telling you,” Jessop whined, “let me go and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Nolan traded places with Coltrane, taking custody of the woman in the tight red dress. He pushed his goggles up on his forehead and looked down at her. “You got a name?”

“Becky Joy.” She glared up at him. Her eyes were red from the smoke bomb. “I have nothing to do with this guy. He was just a date.”

“Take the woman,” Jessop offered. “She’s yours.”

Angrily, she reacted. “You don’t own me. You don’t get to say who I belong to.”

“Settle down.” Nolan clamped his fingers around her wiry upper arm. “You won’t be hurt.”

Coltrane circled Jessop, who was sitting cross-legged in the dirt with his wrists fastened behind his back. Tears streaked down his cheeks. His shoulders shuddered as he gasped for breath. Jessop wasn’t fat or skinny; he was as soft as a lump of pink clay. His formerly pristine white shirt was smudged and spattered with tiny drops of blood from a cut at the corner of his mouth.

In a calm voice, Coltrane lulled the defense contractor into a state of cooperation as he talked about the business of supplying weaponry for America and its allies in Iraq and Afghanistan. Without accusing, he hinted that maybe Jessop sold some of his guns to insurgents or warlords. And maybe, just maybe, there was a connection with the opium trade. “But mostly,” Coltrane said, “you’re providing supplies for our troops. You’re a patriot.”

“That’s right.” Jessop licked at the blood in the corner of his mouth. “You’re military, aren’t you?”

“What was your first clue?”

“The way you boys stormed into the warehouse. You’ve been trained. I can tell.”

Disgusted, Nolan looked away. This marshmallow knew nothing about the military, except that he could make money selling guns. Coltrane’s gentle approach was trying his patience.

“There was a guy in Iraq you might have known,” Coltrane said. “Wes Bradley.”

“Sure. He was one of my contacts.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Maybe six months ago,” Jessop said. “Why? Are you looking for him? Is he the guy you’re after?”

“Could be,” Coltrane said.

Wes Bradley had been one of their primary suspects for the attacks on Governor Lockhart until they discovered that he’d been dead for over two years. Someone else was using his identity.

After Bart’s abduction, they tested blood that supposedly belonged to Bradley and found a DNA match in the military database for Victor Bellows, Bart’s son. But there was a problem with this identification. Victor had been stationed in Iraq and had been MIA for four years.

“I’ll talk,” Jessop said. “What do you want to know about Bradley?”

“Describe him.”

“Over six feet, thinning brown hair. Not a bad looking guy but he has those crazy eyes. Know what I mean? Those pale blue eyes that seem to stare right through you.”

Coltrane produced a high school photo of Victor Bellows. “Is this Wes Bradley?”

Jessop nodded. “He’s older now, but that’s him.”

It was confirmation. Victor Bellows—Bart’s only son—was involved in his father’s abduction. Either Victor was the kidnapper or he knew who was holding his father.

“I’ve got another question,” Coltrane said. “Do you know Bart Bellows?”

“I’ve heard the name.” Jessop’s manner shifted. He was edgy, not eager to talk about Bart. “He’s a billionaire, right?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Coltrane said. “We’re not here to enforce the law. But if you don’t cooperate, we’ll tell the CIA and Homeland Security about the weapons you’re holding in this warehouse.”

“If I talk, what do I get?”

Coltrane glanced over his shoulder at Nolan. “What can we offer?”

Nolan took out his cell phone. He had Omar Harris on speed dial. “As soon as I make this call, the CIA closes in. They’ll confiscate your weapons, but that shouldn’t be a problem for a patriot like you. These guns won’t end up in the hands of insurgents or thugs. All I can give you is fifteen minutes head start before I make the call.”

Jessop’s eyes darted. “That’s not much.”

“Take it or leave it.”

His mouth quivered. “There’s something big going down. It has to do with a case Bellows investigated in Afghanistan. It’s going to happen soon.”

“When?” Coltrane demanded.

“The next couple of weeks. Washington, D.C., is the location.”

Nolan felt a dark chill. Tess and his son lived in Arlington, too close to the threat. He held up his phone. “I need more. That’s too vague.”

“What do you mean?” Jessop wriggled, trying to free himself from the restraints.

“Something?” Nolan scoffed. “Something is happening in Washington? That’s about as useful as telling me that Santa Claus is coming to town. If that’s all you’ve got, I’m calling the law.”

“Don’t, please don’t,” Jessop begged. “I have a name. Just listen to me. The name is Greenaway.”

A blade of ice sliced into Nolan’s chest. Greenaway was the man who destroyed his life. Five years ago, Greenaway had threatened Tess and his unborn child. If he resurfaced, she was in imminent danger.

He had to find out more, had to stop Greenaway.

From the corner of his eye, Nolan saw the woman in the red dress moving. Too slowly, he turned toward her.

A gunshot exploded.

Blood spread across Jessop’s chest. He fell to his side in the dirt.

The woman dropped her gun. Where the hell had she been hiding that weapon? Her dress was so damn tight that she could barely walk. She raised her hands. “You can arrest me. I don’t care what happens.”

Nolan hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared. “Why?”

“Jessop killed my mother. The bastard deserves to die.”

But not yet. Not when Jessop had information Nolan needed.

The possibility that Greenaway was involved changed the focus of Nolan’s search for Bart. He needed to be in Washington, D.C., as soon as possible, and he had to make certain that Tess was safe.

THE OFFICE FOR Donovan Event Planning was a small storefront near Ballston Common Mall in Arlington. After dropping Joey off at day care, Tess arrived at a few minutes after ten in the morning. She hung her burgundy coat and the jacket of her black pantsuit in the closet and went to the sleek Plexiglas front desk where she sat and closed her eyes for a two-minute meditation.

Getting herself and her son ready in the morning took a lot of energy. Though Joey liked playing with the other kids at his day care, she always felt a twinge of guilt about leaving him. It had never been her intention to be a single mother.

She inhaled through her nostrils and exhaled through her mouth. In her mind, she pictured a blue horizon above a still body of water. Clouds blew in, and the sky and sea faded to the white of a blank slate. A fresh start.

With her eyes refreshed, she rose from the desk and looked with pride at her clean line, modern office. The pale blue walls were hung with clear-framed photos of events, awards and a couple of personal pictures. The chairs at either end of the long white leather sofa were royal purple and lime green.

She enjoyed meeting with clients in this area where she wowed them with old-fashioned scrapbooks of prior events and a brand-new digital presentation that outlined her capabilities.

Behind a half-wall partition at the back of the office was the casual break room with a fridge, a counter and a little round table. There was also a play area for Joey, file cabinets and a scheduling board. Tess went to the coffee maker and got the first pot of the day started.

She heard the front door open and peeked around the partition. Her sense of serenity took an immediate hit when she confronted a muscular man with thick, curly black hair. Pierre LeBrune was the head chef for the catering company she was using for the Lockhart Christmas Eve event. Though he didn’t have an accent and probably wasn’t really from France, he dressed in splendid European style from his silk necktie to his flashy platinum Patek Philippe wristwatch.

She didn’t dare offer him her less-than-perfect coffee. “Good morning, Chef.”

“We have a problem, Mrs. Donovan.”

It wasn’t the first. Pierre had popped up at her office a half-dozen times over the past three months to nitpick. The company he owned with two partners was one of the top-notch caterers in Washington, D.C., and it was the first time she’d worked with them.

Usually Tess used the catering service she’d founded, but the Smithsonian insisted she choose from a list of caterers they had worked with before. Though inconvenient for her, she understood that all the cooks and servers needed security clearance to work after hours in the National Museum of American History, where so many patriotic artifacts were on display.

She gestured to the sofa. “Would you like to sit?”

He sneered at the furniture as though the white leather upholstery wasn’t good enough for him. “I won’t be here long. I have a problem with the meat supplier.”

“You have a beef with the beef?”

Ignoring her attempt to lighten the mood, he glared. “I prefer using my regular butcher. This Texas beef doesn’t rise to my standards.”

“I’m sorry, Chef. Our client is the governor of Texas, and she specified the supplier.” She added a compliment. “I know Governor Lockhart is looking forward to your sage-encrusted prime rib.”

He managed to preen and scowl at the same time. “What about the poultry supplier?”

“Also specifically requested. You’ll have to find a way to use free-range Texas chickens.”

“This is unacceptable. I have a reputation.”

He most certainly did. Everyone had told Tess that Pierre was a royal pain in the butt. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to please the client. Did you know that she’s being seriously considered as a candidate for president?”

“Oh.” His thick eyebrows lifted. “I had no idea.”

“Just be glad she didn’t demand barbecue,” she said. “You’re a culinary legend, Pierre. You’ll find a way to make this work.”

“Indeed, I will.”

He pivoted and left.

Had she bitten off more than she could chew with this super fancy sit-down dinner? An evening at the Smithsonian wasn’t her style. As her office manager, Trudy Benson, often reminded her, Donovan Event Planning was best suited to arranging birthday parties with clowns and petting zoos.

Expanding her business to include more sophisticated events was a good move financially, but it wasn’t easy. In a city where everything was measured in terms of influence and leverage, she had zero clout. Yesterday, the events coordinator at the Smithsonian had no trouble turning down her request to see the blueprints. If Tess was going to change her mind, she needed somebody important on her side. Bart Bellows would have been perfect for the job. He could have used his CIA contacts.

The minute she thought of using Bart, she was ashamed of herself. He’d been missing for weeks. Her little problems were nothing compared to what he was going through. God, she hoped he was all right.

She filled her coffee mug and checked out the huge whiteboard where Trudy kept the monthly schedule updated. Five days before Christmas, the Smithsonian dinner was the only event for the week. Next week, she had two small New Year’s Eve parties. Today, Tess would meet a client at lunchtime to plan a dinner party in January.

When she heard the front door open, she poured black coffee into Trudy’s mug and stepped around the partition. “Thank goodness, you’re here. I need your help.”

The person who had entered wasn’t perky, gray-haired Trudy Benson. He was the opposite. A tall, husky man in black slacks, a gray turtleneck and a black leather jacket, he was solid, powerful and totally masculine. Though he wore dark aviator glasses, she felt him staring at her.

Soundlessly, he crossed the floor and took the coffee mug from her hand. When his fingers brushed hers, electricity sparked between them. The buzz surprised her. It had been years since she’d felt that kind of reaction to a man.

She licked her lips. “You’re not Trudy.”

“But I’d be happy to help you. In any way I can.”

His low, raspy voice vibrated in the air between them. In that instant, Tess decided that he was the sexiest man she’d ever met. He wasn’t handsome in the conventional way. His face was rugged and scarred. His brow was heavy, and his nose looked like it had been smashed with a hammer.

She stammered, “Who are you?”

“Nolan Law.”

The name was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She held out her hand as she introduced herself. “I’m Tess Donovan.”

His grasp was firm. His hand was rough and calloused. His touch increased the spark she’d felt into a thousand-volt shock. She was actually trembling. “C-c-can I help you?”

“I’m handling security for Governor Lockhart’s event.”

“I thought Stacy’s fiancé was in charge.”

“The situation merits my attention,” he said. “With Bart gone, I’m in charge.”

Yes, you are. She’d take orders from Mr. Law any day of the week.

Chapter Three

When Trudy dashed through the front door of the office, Tess mentally pushed her back outside. She wanted more alone time with Nolan. His presence validated all those resolutions she’d made about moving on with her life.

“Bad news,” Trudy said as she hung her coat in the closet near the door. “That stuffed gopher my baby grandson wants for Christmas is nowhere to be found. I’m thinking I could chop the ears off a bunny and it might do.”

Pushing her curly gray hair into shape, she darted toward them, introduced herself to Nolan and tilted her head back to look up at him. “You’re a former marine. Am I right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I can always tell.” Her blue eyes twinkled. In her lace blouse with the sparkly Christmas-tree brooch, Trudy Benson was the very definition of cute little old lady. “My oldest boy was in the Corps for ten years before he settled down. Where were you stationed?”

“That information’s classified,” he said.

“You can tell me. It’s not like I’m a terrorist, even if I do have to take my shoes off at the airport. I’ll just assume it was the Middle East. Do you speak Farsi or Arabic?”

“Both.”

For a moment, Tess considered letting Trudy continue with her questions. Her adorable grandma persona gave her free rein to say things that would have sounded rude coming from anyone else, and Tess was curious about Nolan.

But she didn’t want to waste his time. “Mr. Law is handling security for the event at the Smithsonian.”

“I should have guessed,” Trudy said. “Corps Security and Investigations, the business that Bart Bellows founded. Is there any word on Bart?”

Tess stared into Nolan’s dark glasses. She hoped to hear something positive but feared the worst.

“I’m sorry,” Nolan said. “Nothing new.”

She sensed that he was holding back. Later, she’d push for more details. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Law. We have a problem with the security.”

“We’re going to be working together, Tess. Call me Nolan.”

His rasping voice struck an unusual note. At the same time, his cadence and pronunciation sounded familiar. “All right, Nolan. About this problem…”

“The blueprints at the Smithsonian,” he said. “I have a contact who can obtain the necessary security clearance. He needs to meet you.”

“When?”

“Now would be good.” He checked his wristwatch. “I’ll drive.”

Though she didn’t have pressing matters to handle this morning, Tess wasn’t a big fan of the spontaneous. She liked to have things planned and executed with tidy precision. “I have a meeting at one o’clock.”

“I’d be happy to drive you there,” he said.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

She took Trudy’s arm and retreated behind the partition. As soon as she was out of Nolan’s view, Tess exhaled a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. Her heart was beating faster. She felt warm all over. She whispered, “I can’t just drop everything and waltz out the door with him. Can I?”

“You really must.” Trudy patted her shoulder. “Nolan Law is the hottest thing that’s been in this office since we did a test run with that thirtieth birthday cake with all the sparklers and the tablecloth caught on fire.”

“May I remind you that we had to replace a chair after that disaster?”

“Are you sweating?” Trudy asked. “Am I seeing a sheen of perspiration?”

“No.” But yes, she was. Her forehead was damp.

“For goodness sakes, Tess. Go with the sexy bodyguard. If anybody deserves some zing in their life, it’s you.”

Tess wiped her palms on her black slacks and tried to gather her composure. “He’s definitely sexy.”

“He’s kind of a thug with all those scars, but there’s something about him. It’s pretty doggoned obvious that you like him.”

“For all I know, he might be happily married.”

“Oops, I hadn’t thought of that.” Trudy pivoted. “Let’s find out.”

Before Tess could stop her, Trudy darted around the partition and up to Nolan. He was standing at the front desk, holding a clear-framed snapshot of Tess’s son at the top of a slide waving his hands in the air. He held up the picture. “Is this your boy?”

She nodded. “That’s Joey. He’s four.”

“I can see the resemblance to you.”

“Not really,” she said. “He’s the image of his father, healthy and funny and more headstrong than is good for him.”

Trudy piped up, “Do you like children, Nolan?”

“Yes.”

Trudy beamed her grandmotherly smile. “Have you started your own family yet? Is there a Mrs. Nolan Law?”

“A missus?” He seemed amused by the concept. “Actually, there is no Mrs. Nolan Law.”

“No time like the present to get started,” Trudy said. “You two should get going. I’ll take care of the office.”

Tess started to object. “But I—”

“If anything comes up, I’ll call or email or text. Run along.”

Feeling like she’d been railroaded by the Trudy bullet train, Tess slipped into her suit jacket and coat, grabbed her briefcase with the laptop inside and followed Nolan out the door. She expected a rugged man like him to drive a Hummer. Instead, he had a classic black Mercedes.

She buckled her seat belt and leaned back in the luxurious seat. “Where are we headed?”

“A café in D.C.,” he said. “This meeting shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

“I’d like to apologize for Trudy being so intrusive.”

“Not at all,” he said. “She reminds me of my late grandma. A Southern belle who knew everything about everybody in her little town. Grandma always said she wasn’t nosy. Just concerned.”

Aha! He had Southern roots. “I thought I heard a hint of an accent. Did you grow up in the South?”

“I’ve lived all over. You?”

“I grew up in a suburb of Chicago. My dad was a police officer, killed in the line of duty.” She pinched her lips together. She wanted information from him, not the other way around.

He asked, “What brought you to Arlington?”

“College. I wanted to be an art historian but got sidetracked along the way by the culinary arts.” And by Joe Donovan. Instead of going to graduate school, she’d married him and launched her career as a caterer.

“Any regrets about dropping the career in art?”

“None,” she said quickly. “I chose the right path.”

Even though she’d lost Joe, the love they’d shared was true and deep. She’d experienced the kind of passion that poets write about. Not that she and Joe were gooey and sentimental. His greatest talent had been making her laugh. More than anything else, he had wanted her to be happy. If Joe could see her now, he’d tell her to give Nolan a chance. She glanced toward him, wondering if he’d ever take off those sunglasses.

Nolan said, “Bart mentioned that your son was born after your husband went missing. That must have been rough.”

“My son’s birth was the high point of my life, and I wish with all my heart that my husband could have shared that moment when I first heard Joey cry.” She couldn’t help smiling when she recalled the joy and relief she’d felt when she held her perfectly formed, newborn baby boy. Joey was so full of energy, wriggling and waving his arms. It was a wonderful moment. But she didn’t want to talk about herself. “Bart was with me. He’s a very special part of our lives. I’d like to know more about his abduction.”

“Such as?”

“Start at the beginning.”

“There was an explosion at a day care center,” he said. “In the confusion, Bart was taken. His handicap van was missing, and his driver was killed.”

Tess had heard this part of the story. “It seems like his van could be traced. Did it have GPS?”

“There were tracking devices in both the van and Bart’s motorized wheelchair. Both were deactivated immediately. We found the van about a week later. A bomb had been exploded inside. There was no useful evidence.”

“And no contact from the kidnappers,” she said. “I know Bart sees his doctors on a regular basis and is on a regimen of medications.”

“None of his prescriptions have been used, but his meds are fairly common, easily purchased. None of his regular docs have heard from the people who kidnapped him.”

“I worry that he’s not being properly cared for.”

Nolan’s jaw tensed. The long scar that stretched from the edge of his nose to his earlobe defined his cheekbone. “I can’t promise you that Bart is all right. We don’t have any definite leads, and I don’t like to speculate.”

She sensed that he was trying to shelter her from worry as though she was a delicate hothouse orchid. Such concerns were unnecessary. She’d been through a lot of pain in her life, starting with the death of her father when she was in her teens. The other cops on the force had tried to protect her and her mother by not talking about the way he died, but the closed casket pretty much said it all. Her dad had been shot point-blank in the face by a low-life drug dealer who was currently spending life in prison.

Her mom refused to face what had happened, but Tess attended the trial for the drug dealer. Every single day in court, she stared at the bastard who killed her dad, and she experienced every shade of rage and hatred. Dealing with Joe’s death was more difficult; she couldn’t focus her anger and sadness on a faceless enemy.

“I can handle the truth,” she said. “I’d rather know everything than not enough. You’ve been investigating for nearly a month. I assume you have suspects.”

He turned toward her. His eyes were hidden by the dark glasses, but she could feel his gaze. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now, talk.”

“There’s a possibility that Bart was abducted by his son, Victor Bellows.”

She was surprised. “I didn’t know Bart had any children.”

“He was estranged from his son.”

That didn’t seem like Bart at all. He was ferociously loyal and caring; he’d be a great father. “There’s more to that story.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Nolan said. “Bart’s son went into the military when he was eighteen. He did a tour in Iraq and got into trouble with the military police. Rather than be incarcerated, he went AWOL. The military classified him as MIA.”

“How did you find out he was still alive?”

“Victor was using an alias. We found blood at the site of the abduction. When we ran tests, we found a DNA match through the army database.”

A father kidnapped by his own son? She hated to think of the betrayal. There must be another answer. “The fact that his blood was at the scene doesn’t prove that Victor is the kidnapper. He might have been trying to protect his father. Like you, he might be searching for Bart right now.”

“Anything’s possible.” But Nolan sounded skeptical.

“I know Bart was in the CIA for a long time,” she said. “He must have a lot of enemies.”

“True.”

“If Victor took him, he might be keeping his father out of sight to protect him.” She wanted to believe that Bart’s son wouldn’t hurt him. “How much do you know about Victor Bellows?”

“Under his alias, he was involved in some bad stuff. It’s hard to believe that Bart’s son would grow up to be a criminal, but that’s what it looks like.” He paused to take a breath. “I have reason to believe that Victor is here in Washington.”

“That’s the actual reason you’re in town, isn’t it? If you weren’t looking for Victor Bellows, you would have left security for Governor Lockhart’s event to Stacy’s fiancé.”

“Not necessarily.”

“What other reason could there be?”

“Maybe I came here to meet you.”

Was he flirting with her? Tess had been out of the dating game for such a long time that she barely recognized the signs of male attention. “To meet me? Why? What have you heard?”

“I might have heard that you’re a charming woman with black hair and eyes like sapphires. Someone might have told me that you’re creative, smart and efficient. According to rumors, you’re the total package. You can even cook.”

She felt her jaw drop. “Is that so?”

“Thus far, I’m not disappointed.” A grin twitched the corner of his mouth. “But I haven’t tasted your mushroom and asparagus risotto.”

How did he know that was her best dish? When she was working as a caterer, she could always count on her risotto. Apparently, he knew more about her than she did about him. That disparity had to end.

Near the Marine Memorial, he merged onto a main route to cross the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge. Nolan drove like someone who was familiar with D.C. and Arlington.

“Doesn’t look like you need directions,” she said.

“I’ve spent time in this area.”

“At the Pentagon?” she guessed.

He shrugged and said nothing. Pulling information from him was like plucking tail feathers from a chicken. He seemed determined to maintain an aura of mystery, which should have been irritating. Instead, she was intrigued.

Gazing through the windshield at gray skies, she said, “Cloudy day. Do you really need those sunglasses or are they a necessary accessory for security men?”

Another grin. “Are you teasing me, Tess?”

“I dare you to take them off.”

He stopped for a red light, turned to her and whipped off the dark glasses. For less than five seconds, his gaze met hers. Then the sunglasses were back in place as his attention returned to the traffic.

She wasn’t so quick to recover. Shocked, she jolted back in her seat. She was drowning, struggling to catch her breath. Why was this happening to her again? Was she losing her mind?

In Nolan’s eyes, she saw a ghost.

Her fingers clenched, and she dug her nails into her palms, hoping the stab of pain would wake her from this insane illusion. It wasn’t possible. Joe Donovan was dead.

Chapter Four

As they drove onto the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge, Tess was aware of the other vehicles, the heavy clouds and the dark waters of the Potomac. But she saw them all in a blur. She heard herself speaking but had no idea what she’d said.

Nolan’s eyes were a dark gray, more deep set than Joe’s but exactly the same color. Nolan’s left eye was a few centimeters lower than the right. He wasn’t perfectly handsome, wasn’t her darling husband. And yet, in those few seconds when she’d looked into the windows to his soul, she saw Joe Donovan.

“Tess? Are you all right?”

His raspy voice—unlike Joe’s clear baritone—called to her. She needed to respond. Didn’t want him to think she was a nutcase even though there was no other explanation. “Headache,” she said. “I have a little headache.”

He was immediately solicitous. “Should I take you home?”

“No.”

He drove past Foggy Bottom toward Georgetown University, the place where she and Joe had met. Whispers of the past tickled her ears, telling her that she’d found the love of her life. That could not be. Nolan wasn’t Joe. She couldn’t allow herself to confuse the two. Their eyes were similar. So what? Lots of men had gray eyes.

More firmly, she said, “I’m fine. My stomach will be fine.”

“I thought it was your head.”

“Whatever.”

Thankfully, they drove past the turnoff to the university. If he’d pulled up in front of the coffee shop where she and Joe had spent hours together when they were dating, she might have gone into full-blown fantasy mode, imagining herself as a wide-eyed college student who’d fallen madly in love with a handsome marine. That wasn’t her. Not anymore.

Tess had a new identity, a satisfying identity. First and foremost, she was Joey’s mom. Then, she was a business-woman who needed to show the man driving this slick Mercedes that she was responsible and merited referrals.

Swallowing her confusion, she pulled herself together. The smart thing would be to avoid any further interaction with Nolan. No sidelong glances. No flirting. Most definitely, she wouldn’t touch the man. Pretending calm, she asked, “Who is the person we’re meeting?”

“His name is Omar Harris. He’s a friend of Bart’s.”

“A spy?”

“CIA,” Nolan said. “He’ll arrange for our clearance so we can take a look at the blueprints for the museum.”

“Why did he need to see me?”

“Covering his bases. You’ll have to give him the name of your events coordinator at the Smithsonian.”

Though she wasn’t quite sure why she needed face time with this person, Tess didn’t ask for further explanation. A lot of the protocols in Washington were absurdly complicated.

Nolan found a parking place at the curb in a neighborhood of storefronts. The tree branches were lined with fairy lights that were lit even though it was daylight. The shop windows featured colorful Christmas decorations—snowflakes, tinsel and big red bows. A bell-ringer on the corner solicited contributions. Instead of waiting for him to come around and open her door, Tess climbed out quickly. She didn’t want to risk having Nolan take her hand to help her.

He stepped onto the sidewalk beside her. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.” Avoiding eye contact, she glanced at her gold wristwatch. “I’m concerned about making it to my other meeting on time. It might be best if I catch a cab.”

“I’ll drive you. I insist.”

When he touched her elbow to guide her down the street, she flinched. He backed off, giving her plenty of space. Had she insulted him? She wanted to create the opposite effect, but she was scared. Given the choice between too close and too far, she opted for distance.

Halfway down the block, he opened the door to the Minuteman Café and held it for her. Inside, the decor was red-white-and-blue homey with half-curtains on the windows, a long counter, brown leatherette booths and a silver tinsel Christmas tree by the cash register. The lunch rush hadn’t started, and there were only a few patrons. Which of these men was the spy? Was it the silver-haired gentleman? The guy in the black trench coat?

Nolan went to a booth at the rear of the diner to greet Omar Harris. Dressed in sneakers, gray sweatpants and an insulated Georgetown hoodie, he looked like a jogger. His curly black hair was sprinkled with gray. His features were ordinary, which, she supposed, was a plus for a spy.

After Nolan introduced them, he slid into the booth, leaving room for her. She had no choice but to sit beside Nolan with their thighs only inches apart. Using her briefcase, she created a barrier between them.

Omar sipped from his coffee mug. “I recommend the Minuteman blueberry muffins.”

“None for me.” She’d had a big waffle and sausage breakfast with Joey. “How’s the coffee?”

“Passable.” Omar signaled to the waitress.

Nolan stretched his arm across the back of the booth, and she leaned forward to avoid making contact. Her neatly folded hands rested on the tabletop. “Is there any information you need from me, Mr. Harris?”

“I’ve already run a background check.”

Of course, he had. The CIA probably knew more about her than she knew herself. “Did you find anything interesting?”

Though his clothes were casual, his manner turned sharp. His dark eyes riveted on her in a piercing gaze. “Where are you sending your son to school?”

Taken aback, she sputtered, “What?”

“I have an eighteen-month-old. My wife and I are trying to decide where he should go to school. Any ideas?”

“You?” Nolan said. “I didn’t know you had a baby.”

Omar raked his fingers through his graying hair. “I know I’m a little old to be a first-time dad.”

“Second wife?” Nolan asked.

“Number three. The third time is a charm. I couldn’t be happier.” He turned back to her. “Any suggestions?”

“I love our neighborhood in Arlington,” she said. “When we bought our house, we checked into the public schools. I’m happy with that option.”

“You bought your home with your husband,” Nolan said. “Joe Donovan.”

“Yes.” Once again, Joe was front and center. She’d thought about him more in the past twenty-four hours than she had in the last month.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Omar said. “Your husband was a hero. If you don’t mind my asking, how did he come to know Bart Bellows?”

“I’m not sure. Bart never really explained. He showed up on my doorstep, took my hand and helped me through the most difficult time of my life. Honestly, I don’t know how I would have managed without him.”

“You never knew why,” Omar said.

She shook her head. “I know I’m not the only one he’s helped through a rough time.”

“That’s the truth,” Omar said. “Bart has dedicated his life and his wealth to helping veterans returning from war, giving them a jump start on a new life. That’s the idea behind Corps Security and Investigations. Right, Nolan?”

“CSaI is more than a job. We’re brothers.”

Though Tess didn’t know the backgrounds of the men who formed CSaI, Bart had spoken of the pain they’d suffered. She knew how proud he was of these veterans. Bart’s intense concern for others made his relationship with his son even more difficult to understand. Why was he estranged from Victor? Why hadn’t he been able to help his only child?

FIVE YEARS AGO, Nolan had faced the prospect of never seeing his wife or his child again. His enemies had been watching Tess and Joey. If they had any idea that Joe Donovan was still alive, his family would suffer the consequences. At the time, Nolan had thought there was no greater pain than separation. He’d been wrong. Today, spending time with Tess, was sheer torture.

When she’d looked into his eyes and then turned away in disgust, a molten dagger sliced into his gut. He was ashamed of what he had become. His scars made him grotesque—unworthy of her. Beauty and the beast was a damn fairy tale. In real life, the pretty people stuck together while monsters like him hid in the shadows.

On the street, when he’d touched her elbow, she had cringed. In the café, she’d used her briefcase to build a wall between them. Though she’d tried to be polite, it had been pretty damned clear that she wanted nothing to do with him.

The rejection seared his soul, burning away the thick protective shields he used to keep his distance from anyone who tried to get too close. He must never let Tess know that Nolan Law was, in fact, her beloved Joe. It was better for her to remember him with fondness than to face the god-awful truth.

Meeting his son was bound to open an even deeper wound. Kids weren’t hampered by manners; they pointed at him and hid their faces in their mother’s skirts. In the early days before his burns and facial reconstruction had healed, Nolan couldn’t stand being out in public. His appearance was better now. After more surgeries than he could count, he looked almost normal. But not normal enough; his face was still distorted enough to drive Tess away from him.

What the hell had he expected? That she’d take one look at him and leap into his arms? No such happy ending was possible for him.

Though he wanted to run from her and hide himself in a dark cave where he could lick his wounds, solitude wasn’t the answer. The minute Jessop mentioned Greenaway, Nolan knew the threat had returned. He had to put aside his feelings and dedicate himself to protecting her and Joey.

The main reason he’d wanted Tess to meet Omar was so that he could gauge the other man’s reaction to the mention of Joe Donovan. Nobody, except for Bart, knew that Nolan was Joe. Keeping his identity and the fact that he’d survived was vital to the safety of his wife and child.

Omar had passed the test. Though the longtime CIA operative had been trained to conceal his reactions, Nolan’s perceptions were razor sharp. He had sensed no interest from Omar in Joe Donovan.

Nolan wished he hadn’t promised to escort Tess to her next meeting. He was anxious for this misery to end, and it took every tattered shred of his self-control to behave in the cool, collected manner that befitted a marine. Remaining civil was killing him by inches. Combat would have been easier.

After they left the café and were back in the Mercedes, he tried to fill the uncomfortable silence. “Tell me about the people we’re going to see.”

“The Zamir family,” she said, “is filthy rich and socially connected at the highest level. The three daughters are always dressed head-to-toe in designer fashion, even the fourteen-year-old. The father has a diplomatic post in the Royal Saudi Embassy, but I don’t think it’s a real job. Just a title.”

Nolan trusted her instincts. He always had. “Why do you think he’s lying?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s a lie. Mr. Zamir’s connection to the embassy is a convenience while he’s handling his other business.”

Keeping his focus on the traffic around them, he stole a glance at her. Her shoulder-length black hair fell forward, obscuring his view of her lovely face. Her slender fingers laced in her lap, and he noticed that she still wore her platinum wedding band. She’d moved it from her left hand to her right, but it was still there. She hadn’t forgotten him.

He cleared his throat. “What’s Zamir’s real business?”

“I have no idea. This town is so full of intrigue that the truth is little more than a rumor.”

He didn’t like the idea of Tess being swept up in one of these intrigues. “How did you meet these clients?”

“You have a lot of questions.”

“I’m an investigator,” he said. “Did you meet the Zamirs through Bart?”

“A lot of my clients were referrals from Bart, but I met the Zamir family a long time ago when I was catering. They use high-profile event planners most of the time, but I’m the one they call for last-minute things. Like this dinner for ten in January.”

Though her explanation was plausible, he couldn’t help having suspicions. Bart’s kidnapping had opened the door to long-buried dangers. “It’s not a problem if I accompany you inside, is it?”

“Well, I don’t usually travel with a bodyguard, but I’ll introduce you as a friend. You’re not going to believe the inside of their house.”

“Why is that?” He glanced toward her again. Though she wasn’t looking at him, she was grinning.

“The Zamirs have tons of stuff. All of it glitters. Their decor is incredibly ornate—gold-leaf furniture, polished brass vases and crystal chandeliers.”

“Snazzy.”

He heard her gasp, and he knew he’d used the wrong word. Whenever she described something that was over-the-top, she called it snazzy.

“You’re right.” Her voice was breathless. “Snazzy is exactly what I would say.”

He cursed himself for being careless. An apology would only make it worse. He drove in silence. The air inside the Mercedes clouded with suppressed emotion. There was so much he wanted and needed to say. Even if he tried to explain, he didn’t know where to start.

The GPS navigator in the Mercedes had directed him into an upscale, exclusive neighborhood. “We’re getting close,” he said.

She reached over and rested her arm on his shoulder. “Would you pull over? Just for a moment.”

Her touch suffused him with a warm glow. Clearly, she had no idea of the effect she had on him. Tess had always been unaware of her own beauty.

As he parked at the curb, he steeled himself. “What is it, Tess?”

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.” When she frowned, her eyebrows crinkled. “I want to apologize.”

He knew she was trying to be polite. Though her reaction to his ugliness was natural, she didn’t want to offend. “You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

“Let me explain, please. I’m not usually so tongue-tied and clumsy. My event-planning business is largely based on my ability to get along with people, and I’ve got to clear the air.” She stared into his sunglasses. “I know this is a cliché, but it’s not you. It’s me.”

“Okay.”

“You remind me of someone,” she said, “someone who was very dear to me. It doesn’t make sense. You don’t look like him. And your tone of voice is different. But there’s…a certain something. Being with you is bringing back a whole lot of memories that are…inappropriate.”

He couldn’t believe what she was saying. She’d recognized him. In spite of everything, she had known in her heart that he was her husband. By God, he loved this woman.

“It’s all right, Tess. I understand.”

“How could you?”

“I’ve lost someone, too.”

And he would find a way to win her back.

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