# The Baby Contract

Barbara Dunlop

One little baby highlights the fine line between duty and desire…from New York Times bestselling author Barbara Dunlop!Troy Keiser won't hire a woman, no matter how skilled–or beautiful–for the dangerous work of his elite security firm. Plus, there's no way he could keep his hands off Mila Stern! But when his sister and infant nephew need protection, Troy offers Mila a job…as a caretaker for them both.Mila doesn't know much about kids, but she'll learn if it means Troy hiring her for more than this assignment. But as she falls for the baby–and her sexy boss!–she uncovers a secret about the boy in her care that could change everything…

She was kissing her boss.

More than that, she was making out like a crazed teenager with the very man judging her professionalism.

Maybe this was a test. It was probably a test. She'd passed weapons proficiency only to fail miserably at self-control. Mila scrambled to salvage the situation, seizing on the first idea she had. “What about me going to South America with the team?”

“Are you kidding me?”

She brazened it out, walking her fingertips up his chest. “I speak pretty good Spanish.”

Troy trapped her hand with his, squeezing it tight. “You're telling me that kiss was just about persuasion?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Of course it was persuasion.”

“You're lying.”

* * *

The Baby Contract is part of Mills & Boon® Desire™’s No.1 bestselling series Billionaires and Babies: Powerful men…wrapped around their babies’ little fingers.

The Baby Contract

Barbara Dunlop


www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada's far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.

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For my daughter

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Troy Keiser halted his razor midstroke, glancing to the phone on the bathroom counter.

“Say again?” he asked his business partner, Hugh “Vegas” Fielding, sure he must have misheard.

“Your sister,” Vegas repeated.

Troy digested the statement, bringing the cell to his ear, avoiding the remnants of his shaving cream. Sandalwood-scented steam hung in the air, blurring the edges of the mirror.

“Kassidy is here?”

His nineteen-year-old half sister, Kassidy Keiser, lived two hundred miles from DC, in Jersey City. She was a free spirit, a struggling nightclub singer, and it had been more than a year since Troy had seen her.

“She’s standing in reception,” said Vegas. “Seems a little twitchy.”

Last time Troy had seen Kassidy in person, he was in Greenwich Village. A security job with the UN had brought him to New York City, and the meeting was purely by chance. Kassidy had been playing at a small club, and the diplomat he’d been protecting wanted an after-hours drink.

Now, he glanced at his watch, noting it was seven forty-five and mentally calculating the drive time to his morning meeting at the Bulgarian embassy. He hoped her problem was straightforward. He needed to solve it and get on with his day.

“You’d better send her up.”

He dried his face, put his razor and shaving cream in the cabinet, rinsed the sink, and pulled a white T-shirt over his freshly washed hair, topping a pair of black cargo pants. Then he went directly to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, downing it to bring his brain cells back to life.

His and Vegas’s side-by-side apartments took up the top floor of the Pinion Security Company building in northeast DC. The first two floors housed the company’s reception and meeting areas. Floors three to seven were offices and electronic equipment storage. The computer control center was highly secured, directly below the apartments. The basement and subbasement were used for parking, target practice and storage for a vault of weapons.

The building was state-of-the-art, built after Troy sold his interest in some innovative security software and Vegas hit it big at a casino on the strip. After that, their company had grown exponentially, and they’d never looked back.

The buzzer sounded, and he crossed the living room, opening the apartment door to find the six-feet-four, barrel-chested Vegas standing behind his sister, Kassidy, who, even in four-inch heels, seemed barely half the man’s size. Her blond hair was streaked purple, and she wore three earrings in each ear. A colorful tunic-style top flowed to a ragged hem at midthigh over a pair of skintight black pants.

“Hello, Kassidy.” Troy kept his voice neutral, waiting to ascertain her mood. He couldn’t imagine it was good news that brought her here.

“Hi, Troy.” She slanted a gaze at Vegas, clearly hinting that he should leave.

“I’ll be downstairs,” said Vegas.

Troy gave his partner a short nod of appreciation.

“Is everything okay?” he asked as Kassidy breezed her way into the penthouse foyer.

“Not exactly,” she said, hiking up her oversize shoulder bag. “I have a problem. At least I think it’s a problem. I don’t know how big of a problem.”

Troy curbed his impatience with her roundabout speaking style. He wanted to tell her to spit it out already. But he knew from experience that rushing her only slowed things down.

“You got any coffee?” she asked.

“I do.” He cut through the vaulted-ceilinged living room, heading for the kitchen, assuming she’d follow and hoping she’d compose her thoughts along the way.

Her heels clicked on the parquet floor. “I’ve thought about it and talked about it and I’m really sorry to bother you with it. But it’s kind of getting away from me, you know?”

No, he didn’t know. “Does ‘it’ have a name?”

“It’s not a person.”

He tried and failed to keep the exasperation from his voice. “Kassidy.”

“What?”

He rounded the island in the center of the expansive kitchen. “You’ve got to give me something here, maybe a proper noun.”

She pursed her lips tight together.

“What happened?” he asked. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. See, I told my manager this would happen.”

“You have a manager?”

“A business manager.”

“For your singing career?”

“Yes.”

The revelation took Troy by surprise.

Sure, Kassidy was a sweet singer, but she was really small-time. Who would take her on? Why would they take her on? His mind immediately went to the kinds of scams that exploited starry-eyed young women.

“What’s the guy’s name?” he asked suspiciously.

“Don’t be such a chauvinist. Her name is Eileen Renard.”

Troy found himself feeling slightly relieved. Statistically speaking, females were less likely than males to exploit vulnerable young women in the entertainment business, turning them into strippers, getting them addicted to drugs.

He gave her face a critical once-over. She looked healthy, if a bit tired. He doubted she was doing any kind of recreational drugs. Thank goodness.

He retrieved a second white stoneware mug from the orderly row on the first shelf of a cupboard. “Why did you think you needed a manager?”

“She approached me,” said Kassidy, slipping up onto a maple wood stool at the kitchen island and dropping her bag to the floor with a clunk.

“Is she asking for money?”

“No, she’s not asking for money. She likes my singing. She thinks I have potential. Which I do. It was after a show in Miami Beach, and she came backstage. She represents lots of great acts.”

“What were you doing in Miami Beach?” Last Troy had heard Kassidy could barely afford the subway.

“I was singing in a club.”

“How did you get there?”

“On an airplane, just like everybody else.”

“That’s a long way from New Jersey.”

“I’m nineteen years old, Troy.”

He set a cup of black coffee in front of her. “Last time we talked, you didn’t have any money.”

“Things have changed since the last time we talked.”

He searched her expression for signs of remorse. He hoped she hadn’t done anything questionably moral or legal.

“I’m doing better,” she said.

He waited for her to elaborate, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Financially,” she said. “Good, in fact. Great, really.”

“You don’t need money?” He’d assumed money would be at least part of the solution to her current problem.

“I don’t need money.”

That was surprising, but good, though it didn’t explain her presence.

“Can you tell me the problem?” he asked.

“I’m trying to tell you the problem. But you’re giving me the third degree.”

“I’m sorry.” He forced himself to stay quiet.

She was silent for so long that he almost asked another question. But he told himself to pretend this was a stakeout. He had infinite patience on a stakeout.

“It’s a few guys,” she said. She reached down for her shoulder bag and dug into it. “At least I assume they’re guys—from what they say, it sounds like they’re guys.” She extracted a handful of papers. “They call themselves fans, but they’re kind of scary.”

Troy reached for the wrinkled email printouts, noting the trace of anxiety that had come into her expression.

“What do they say?”

While waiting for her answer, he began reading the emails.

They were from six unique email addresses, each with a different nickname and a different writing style. For the most part, they were full of praise, laced with offers of sex and overtones of possessiveness. Nothing was overtly threatening, but any one of them could be the start of something sinister.

“Do you recognize any of the addresses?” he asked. “Do you know any of the nicknames?”

She shook her purple hair. “If I’ve met them, I don’t remember. But I meet a lot of people, a lot of people. And hundreds more see me onstage and you know...” She gave her slim shoulders a shrug. “They read my blog, and they think we’re friends.”

“You write a blog?”

“All singers write blogs.”

“They shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not as paranoid as you.”

“I’m not paranoid.”

“You don’t trust people, Troy.”

“Only because most of them can’t be trusted. I’m going to hand these over to our threat expert and see if there’s anything to worry about.” Troy remembered to glance at his watch. If he wasn’t done soon, Vegas would have to take the Bulgarian meeting.

He polished off his coffee, hoping Kassidy would do the same.

She didn’t.

“It’s not just the emails,” she said.

“Oh?”

“People have started hanging around the stage door after my show, looking for autographs and selfies.”

“How many people?”

“Fifty, maybe more.”

“Fifty people wait around to get your autograph?”

“You know, your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“It’s not that.”

Actually, it was that. He was surprised she had anywhere near that kind of a following.

“Things are moving fast,” she said. “Downloads of my songs, ticket sales, offers for gigs. A guy on a motorcycle followed me back to my hotel in Chicago last week. It was creepy.”

Talk about burying the lead. That could be truly dangerous.

“Were you alone?” Troy asked.

“I was with a backup band.”

He was relieved to hear it.

“I was wondering. You know, thinking.” Her blue eyes were big, and her face looked pale and delicate. “Do you think I could stay with you? Just for a little while? It’s really safe here, and I’m having a hard time sleeping in my apartment.”

“Here?” Troy’s sense of duty went to war with his desire for privacy.

“Just for a little while,” she repeated, looking hopeful.

Troy desperately wanted to say no. He searched his mind for a way he could do that.

The two of them shared a father, but he had died several years ago. And Kassidy’s mother was a certified flake. Last Troy heard she was living with some kind of hippie junk sculptor in the mountains of Oregon.

For all intents and purposes, Troy was Kassidy’s only relative. He was definitely her only stable relative. How could he turn her down?

“How long?” he asked.

Her face burst into a brilliant smile, and she hopped down from the stool, hurrying around the island. “You’re the best.”

He wasn’t the best. In fact, he hadn’t even agreed to let her stay yet.

But she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tight. “Thank you, big brother.”

Something tugged at his heart. “You’re welcome,” he told her.

She drew back. “You’re going to love Drake.”

Wait a minute. “You want to bring a boyfriend here?”

That put an entirely different spin on the situation. No way, no how, was some random guy going to stay in Troy’s apartment.

“Drake’s not my boyfriend,” she said, her eyes still bright with joy. “He’s my son.”

* * *

Mila Stern was on a mission.

At times it seemed doomed, but she wasn’t giving up, because Sterns never gave up. She had three siblings and two parents who proved that to her every single day.

Coming up on noon, she approached the front door of the Pinion Security building, squaring her shoulders, drawing a bracing breath and mentally rehearsing her opening lines.

Five minutes, she’d tell Troy Keiser. He only needed to listen to her pitch for five short minutes. That was barely any time at all, and it had the potential to increase his business by 10 percent.

Did 10 percent sound like enough? she wondered. Maybe she should claim 15 percent. Or was fifteen too much of a stretch?

No. It wasn’t a stretch. The number of women in need of some form of personal protection was growing by the month. In fact, it was growing by the week. Maybe even by the day. Should she say day?

Yes. By the day. That was a perfectly fair claim to make—15 percent and growing by the day.

Dressed in pale gray cargo pants, a blue sweater and sturdy leather boots, she pulled open the stenciled glass entry door. The Pinion reception area was compact, decorated in gray tones, with a sleek steel-and-smoked-glass counter curving around the back wall. A man stood behind it dressed in black. His hair was cropped short, his chin square and strong, and his arms and shoulders all but bulging from the three-quarter sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a deep voice.

She smiled, trying to look friendly and innocuous, like the kind of person a man would want to help. “I hope so,” she said, striding forward to the countertop. “I’m looking for Troy Keiser.”

The man hit a couple of keys on a computer terminal recessed into the desk in front of him. “You have an appointment?”

“Not for today,” she answered. “We’ve been corresponding for a few weeks, and my plans were fluid.” She stopped talking, hoping he’d draw the conclusion that Troy Keiser was willing, even intending to make an appointment with her.

“Your name?” he asked.

She wished he hadn’t asked that, but she couldn’t see a way around giving it to him. “Mila Stern.”

Troy Keiser—and, she had to assume, the entire human resources unit of Pinion Security—would recognize her name as the woman whose job application they’d rejected three times over.

The man pressed a button on his compact headset.

Mila continued to smile even as tension built within her. She was fully qualified to become a security agent at Pinion, even if Troy Keiser wouldn’t admit it. She had a degree in criminology and a black belt in Krav Maga, along with significant technical surveillance and tactical weapons training.

The man waited, and Mila waited. She knew if he talked to Troy Keiser, it would be game over before she made it past the lobby.

Her gaze flicked to the elevator doors behind him. No doubt they were controlled by a passkey. If she was lucky, there was also a staircase from the lobby. She drew his attention by smoothing back her brown hair, pretending to check the French braid that held it in place. At the same time, she surreptitiously scanned the room.

There it was. A stairway door. She let her gaze slide right past it without pausing. If Troy refused to see her, she’d make a break for the stairway. Reception man would have to circle the end of the counter to come after her, giving her a head start of two, maybe three seconds.

He might call for backup on the second floor, but that would take five to seven seconds. She could run a flight of stairs in three, and this was only a nine-story building. She’d duck out at the fourth floor and try to lose them. Assuming the stairwell doors weren’t locked. They could easily be locked.

The man ended the phone call without speaking and pressed another number.

Mila waited, hoping a new call might work in her favor.

“Vegas?” the man said into the phone. “There’s a woman here for Troy. No, no appointment. Mila Stern.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing on Mila.

She shifted her weight to the ball of her left foot, getting ready to sprint.

“Will do,” he said. The suspicion seemed to go out of his eyes.

She took a chance and waited a moment longer.

He ended the call. “You can meet Hugh Fielding on the second floor.”

Yes. At least she’d make it out of the lobby.

“Is Troy here?” she dared ask.

“He’s busy at the moment. But Vegas should be able to help you.”

She wanted to ask what Troy was doing, or more importantly where Troy was doing it. Was he on the second floor or somewhere else?

The man pressed a button, and a light on the elevator behind him turned from red to green.

“Thank you,” said Mila, heading for the elevator.

She knew that Hugh Fielding, nicknamed Vegas, was Troy’s business partner. He might not have recognized her name. Then again, he might be planning to run interference, to keep her away from Troy, maybe even to escort her directly out of the building.

During her research of the company, she’d learned Troy Keiser undertook most management functions, including making the hiring decisions. It seemed Vegas Fielding was the technical expert.

She stepped inside the elevator. The two was already lighted on the panel. Taking a chance, she reached out and pressed nine—might as well get as far away from Vegas as possible to start her search. The white circle lit up.

The doors closed, and she moved to a front corner, flush against the wall beside the door. If she was very lucky, Hugh Fielding would think the car was empty and assume she was catching the next elevator.

It stopped on two, and the doors whooshed open.

Mila held her breath, hearing phone chimes and several voices outside. No footfalls approached the elevator, and none of the voices seemed raised in alarm.

The doors closed again, and she let out her breath, easing out of the corner as the numbers counted to nine.

When the doors opened on the ninth floor, Troy himself stood outside. His arms were folded over his chest, and his feet were braced apart. It was obvious he was expecting her.

“Seriously?” he asked with an arched brow.

“Hello, Mr. Keiser.” She quickly exited the elevator.

If it descended without her, she’d have at least a few moments with him.

“You just broke into my building.”

“No,” she disagreed. “Mr. Fielding invited me in. I’m sure nobody could break into the Pinion Security building.”

A flare came into his blue eyes. She could only hope it was amusement and not anger.

“Vegas invited you to the second floor.”

“But the person I really want to see is you.”

“So you hijacked the elevator to the private floor?”

Mila glanced along the short hallway that ended in two doors. “I didn’t realize it was a private floor.” She wasn’t about to admit she’d planned to search the building from the top down in order to find him.

“How can I help you, Ms. Stern? And no, you can’t have a job. Sweet-talking your way past reception does not prove your superior tradecraft skills.”

“That wasn’t my intent.”

“What was your intent?”

“To talk to you in person.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

Mila’s brain immediately leaped to her rehearsed points. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the number of high-profile businesswomen, female politicians and celebrities in need of some form of personal protection is rising every year. Estimates show that companies focusing on that fast-growing demographic can see an increase in business of up to 15 percent per year. And offering services that cater specifically to—”

“You’re making that up.”

She didn’t let the interruption rattle her. “I’m not. Any number of public sources can point to the rise in female political figures, industrialists, high-powered rock stars.”

“The 15 percent. You made up the 15 percent.”

He had to be guessing. Mila was a very good liar.

“It’s more anecdotal than scientific,” she allowed. “But the fundamental point—”

“We already cater to women,” said Troy. “We protect hundreds of women, with better than a 99-percent success rate.”

There was something slightly off in his expression. He was lying right back at her. But why would he lie? And then she got it. He was making up the 99 percent to mock her.

“You’re making that up,” she said softly.

“Any number of sources will verify that we have a robust female clientele.”

She struggled not to smile. “You’re making up the 99 percent.”

“It’s my company.”

“You’ve got a tell.”

“I do not.”

She lifted her chin. “Right there. Next to your left ear. There’s a muscle that twitches when you’re lying.”

“That’s preposterous.”

“Tell me another lie.”

“I’ll tell you the truth,” he said. “I’m not hiring you, not now, not ever.”

“Because I’m a woman.”

“Because you’re a woman.”

“And you think that means I can’t fight hand to hand.”

“I don’t just think that. It’s a fact.”

“I’m pretty good,” she said, putting a challenge into her tone. “You want to spar?”

He gave a chopped laugh. “You’re weak and delusional.”

“I don’t expect to beat you.”

Her statement seemed to puzzle him. “Then why the challenge?”

“I expect to do well, surprise you, exceed your expectations.”

“You’ll get hurt.”

She gave a shrug. “Probably a little.”

“Probably a lot.”

“I really want this job.”

“No kidding. But I’m not going to give you a job because you’re foolish enough to challenge me in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Try me.”

His phone rang in his pocket.

“No,” he said to her before answering it. Then he made a half turn away from her. “Yeah?”

Mila regrouped. She knew she could hold her own against him, and she knew she would surprise him with her skills. She also knew one of his major objections to hiring women security agents was the fear they couldn’t handle themselves in a fistfight.

She considered simply up and attacking him. He’d have to defend himself. Then at least he’d see what she could do.

“That was fast,” he said into the phone. “I’m already up on the ninth.”

He was distracted at the moment, half turned away from her. It would give her an advantage in the first few seconds. His ribs were exposed, and his stance was slightly off balance.

He glanced at her and instantly drew back, an expression of surprise on his face.

“Gotta go,” he said into the phone. “Don’t even think about it,” he said to Mila.

So much for her advantage of surprise. Still, the tactic had a reasonable chance of success.

The elevator pinged behind her.

It was enough of a distraction that Troy was able to grab her left wrist. He tried for the right, obviously intending to manacle her hands behind her back. But she was too quick for him.

She was about to catch him in the solar plexus when a baby’s cries came through the elevator doors. She reflexively looked toward the sound.

Troy snagged her other wrist, disabling her.

“That wasn’t fair,” she grumbled over her shoulder.

“Nothing in this business is fair.” He let her go.

The elevator opened to reveal an attractive young woman with purple hair, a colorful bag dangling over her shoulder and a squalling baby in a stroller out front.

“He’s hungry,” the woman said to Troy as she moved forward.

Troy looked quite horrified by the sight.

Mila knew he didn’t have a wife. Maybe this was a girlfriend.

“Then feed him,” said Troy, sounding impatient.

“I will.” The woman bumped the stroller wheels over the lip of the door.

Mila could see her conversation with Troy coming to an abrupt and final end as the two of them dealt with the crying baby. She couldn’t afford to let that happen.

Making a split-second decision, she bent over the stroller. “Oh, he’s adorable,” she said.

The truth was the baby was quite unattractive at the moment. His face red and scrunched up, eyes watery, nose running and his mouth open with bawls of annoyance.

Mila refused to let it deter her. “Come here, precious,” she cooed, imitating the behavior of her sappy aunt Nancy around babies. She gathered the messy little guy from the stroller. “What’s the trouble, huh? Are you hungry?”

She felt ridiculous speaking to an uncomprehending baby in such a sickly sweet tone, but it was the only way she could think of to stick with Troy. And she was determined to stick with Troy.

She forced herself to keep from grimacing as she brought the baby’s gummy face to her shoulder. Her tank top would wash, and so would her skin. She patted him gently on the back, surprised by the warmth of his little body and by the softness. He felt as though he didn’t have a single bone or muscle.

His cries changed to intermittent sobs.

“Let’s get going,” the woman said anxiously. “This won’t last long.”

Mila refused to make eye contact with Troy, knowing he had to be angry at her pushiness. Instead, she marched past him, heading down the short hall to the doors at the end.

Two

Two women had invaded Troy’s apartment, for two completely different but equally frustrating reasons. Well, maybe not equally frustrating, since he could get rid of Mila Stern in short order, just as soon as she put the baby down. Though, for the moment, the baby was quiet in her arms, and he was hesitant to mess with that.

Kassidy was bent over his sofa sorting through her shoulder bag, pulling out diapers, flannel blankets and tiny socks.

“He likes you,” she said to Mila, straightening with a bottle in her hand.

“He seems like a sweetheart,” said Mila.

Something pinged on Troy’s radar. Mila’s expression was perfectly neutral, and there was no reason for her to lie about something as innocuous as a baby. But for some reason his suspicions were up again.

“He can be a terror,” said Kassidy. “Especially at night. It’s going to take Troy a while to get used to all the crying.”

“Hello?” Troy didn’t like the sound of that.

The guest rooms were on the opposite side of the apartment from the master bedroom, but the kid seemed to have quite a set of lungs.

“I’m Kassidy Keiser, by the way,” Kassidy said to Mila.

Mila looked surprised. She glanced to Troy. “So, you two are...married?”

“No,” they both barked out simultaneously.

Drake let out a cry of surprise.

“Kassidy is my sister,” said Troy.

Mila’s glance went to Drake. “So the baby isn’t yours?”

“No!” This time Troy beat Kassidy to the punch.

“I live in Jersey City,” said Kassidy, taking Drake from Mila’s arms. “That is, I normally live in Jersey City. But I’ve relocated for a while. Me and Drake. We’ll be staying here with Troy until things calm down.” She sat down on the sofa and popped the bottle into Drake’s mouth.

The baby dug into the meal, his little hands clasping and unclasping as he sucked and swallowed.

Mila took an armchair, perching on the edge to watch. “What things need to calm down?” she asked Kassidy, concern evident in her voice.

Troy started to protest. Mila wasn’t a guest. She had no business engaging his sister in chitchat while his lunch hour ticked away. He had a busy afternoon coming up, and he didn’t intend to spend it starving.

“Or until I get used to it all, I suppose,” said Kassidy. “And used to him.” She smiled down at Drake, smoothing a lock of his dark hair. “Isn’t he adorable?”

“You could have put him up for adoption,” said Troy.

The baby was adorable. There had to be dozens if not hundreds of stable, loving couples who would want him. Kassidy was in absolutely no position to take on an infant. She could barely take care of herself.

But her eyes flashed angrily at him. “I told you, I promised.”

“What a thing to say,” Mila cut in, adding her own glare at Troy. “What kind of support is that? This is your nephew.”

“He’s not my nephew,” said Troy.

“He will be,” said Kassidy. “Legally, morally and in every other way there is. You better get used to it, Troy. Because little Drake here isn’t going anywhere. Not anywhere.”

Now Mila just looked confused.

“She’s adopting him,” said Troy, wondering why he bothered to explain. It was past time for Mila to leave.

“Where are his birth parents?” Mila asked Kassidy.

“His mother passed away,” said Kassidy, her tone going soft and her hand smoothing over Drake’s head for a second time. “She was a good friend.”

The baby was blissfully oblivious to the discussion swirling around him. His hunger was being satiated, and that was all he cared about. Troy felt a pang of jealousy and then realized he could make that same decision for himself.

“I need to get lunch,” he announced, checking the time on his wrist.

He had less than thirty minutes before he had to be back downstairs. The Bulgarians had hired Pinion Security for an important upcoming UN reception, and he needed to get the team set up.

“Help yourself to whatever you want,” he told Kassidy. He dug into his pocket for a key card. “This will get you into the exterior doors as well as this apartment. You should know there are cameras all over the building.” His gaze moved to Mila. “We can track anybody, anywhere, at any time.”

She obviously understood. “You knew I was coming.”

“We saw you hiding from Vegas on the elevator. We were curious.”

“Sneaky,” she said.

“Seriously? Me, sneaky?”

“You could have said something.”

“Why would I say something?”

Kassidy’s gaze was ping-ponging back and forth between them.

“I only wanted to talk to you,” said Mila.

“And you did. And we’re done.” He gestured to the apartment’s front door. “The control room will be watching you all the way out. So don’t try anything.”

“Who are you?” asked Kassidy.

Mila looked at Kassidy, but obviously hesitated over her answer.

“I thought you were his girlfriend,” Kassidy continued as she lifted Drake to her shoulder and began patting his back.

“I’m applying for a job,” said Mila.

“She means she’s stalking me,” said Troy.

“Welcome to the club,” Kassidy said to Troy.

“Someone’s stalking you?” Mila was quick to pick up on the inference.

“I don’t know,” Kassidy answered. “Maybe. I have these fans.” She gave a little burst of laughter. “I guess if you’re not dating Troy—”

“I’m not dating Troy.”

“—then you wouldn’t know I was a singer. I’m a singer. And I have some fans. Not a whole bunch of fans, but enough. And some of them have been sending me emails. They’re a bit creepy.”

Mila looked to Troy.

He gave a shrug to indicate he wasn’t unduly alarmed. “I’ve forwarded copies to a profiler.”

“Can I see them?” asked Mila.

“Sure,” said Kassidy.

“No, she can’t,” said Troy. “She doesn’t work here, and they’re none of her business.”

“Why doesn’t she work here?” asked Kassidy.

“That’s none of your business,” said Troy.

“I’m serious,” said Kassidy.

“So am I.”

Kassidy turned to Mila. “Why don’t you work here?”

“I’m trying,” said Mila. “But your brother doesn’t hire women.”

Kassidy’s blue eyes went wide and she stared at him with patent disapproval.

“That’s not true,” said Troy, wondering why he was feeling defensive. “I have three women working in this building alone.”

“Not as security agents,” said Mila.

Troy glared at her, sending the unmistakable message that she should shut up.

“Why not as security agents?” asked Kassidy. Using one hand to hold Drake, she dug into her shoulder bag. “I’ll show you the latest emails.”

“Mila is leaving, and I’m having lunch.” Troy had to try at least.

“Go ahead and have lunch,” said Kassidy. “I want a woman’s opinion on this.”

He turned his tone to steel. “Goodbye, Mila Stern.”

“Don’t you be a jerk, Troy,” said Kassidy.

“I won’t charge you,” Mila said, rising to her feet and heading for Kassidy.

“Charge me with what?” He was baffled by the statement.

“Charge you for the time,” she said.

“You don’t work for me.”

“This new one came yesterday,” said Kassidy, holding out a sheet of paper.

Despite himself, Troy’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t seen this one. “Who’s it from?”

Mila was quicker on the draw, taking the printout from Kassidy’s hand.

“BluebellNighthawk,” said Kassidy.

Mila was reading her way through it, and Troy went behind her to look over her shoulder.

The message rambled about Kassidy’s hair and her eyes, her voice and a song she’d written that BluebellNighthawk seemed to think was about him.

“Is this the only new one?” asked Troy.

“Is there any significance to the word window?” asked Mila.

Troy stared down at her. “Why?”

“None that I can think of,” said Kassidy.

“He uses it twice,” said Mila. “And both times it’s the end of a thought followed by an awkward transition.”

Troy reread the note. “It’s all awkward.”

“True,” said Mila, sitting back down in the armchair, still gazing at the printout.

Troy summoned his patience. They were going backward here.

“I’m starving,” he said to both of them.

“So go have lunch,” said Kassidy.

Mila merely waved him away.

* * *

Mila had managed to stay in Troy’s apartment with Kassidy while he went downstairs for some meetings. She now had a hundred fan emails sorted into piles on the dining room table and had reconstructed Kassidy’s recent concert schedule on a digital map on her tablet.

Drake cooed in his baby seat in the corner of the living room. Kassidy chatted on the phone to her business manager in the kitchen, the occasional word or burst of laughter filtering out.

Mila was matching the emails to the performance dates, and now she needed to link them all on the map. For that, she needed a scanner.

She glanced around and spotted an open door that looked promising. She rose to look more closely and discovered it was Troy’s home office. Sure enough, she found a scanner on the corner credenza.

It looked straightforward enough, and she loaded in the documents.

“Can I help you with something?” Troy’s deep voice came from behind her.

“No.” She turned to meet his decidedly annoyed expression. “I think I’ve got it working.”

“I didn’t mean that literally.” His frown deepened.

“What did you mean?” she asked conversationally.

She refused to let herself be intimidated by his scowl. Kassidy was living here with him, and she had invited Mila to stay and sort through the emails.

“I meant, what the hell are you doing in my office without permission?”

She held his gaze. “I’m scanning documents.”

He advanced a couple of paces, shrinking the space with his presence. “I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“You have cameras all over the place. You’d have known if I left.”

“I don’t monitor the control center.”

“Your staff wouldn’t notify you?”

He paused at that. It was obvious from his expression they would have contacted him immediately.

Their gazes stayed locked, and a tickle of awareness found its way into her pores. There was no denying he was a good-looking man. And masculine strength was definitely a turn-on for her. But it was odd that his belligerence wouldn’t have counteracted those two traits. She wasn’t blindly attracted to just any tough guy.

The scanner chugged and whined in the background.

“You need to leave,” he said.

“You don’t want to know what I found?”

“We both know Kassidy’s in no real danger.”

“We do?”

Mila wasn’t ready to go that far. Though it did seem likely Kassidy was experiencing the harmless, if annoying, adoration that could be directed at any pretty young woman in the public eye.

“You’ve given it a nice try,” he said. “You’ve given it a terrific try. You’ve gone above and beyond in trying to get me to hire you. I’ll grant you that.”

“Thank you. So, hire me.”

“I’m not hiring you.”

“Why not?” she asked.

He rolled his eyes with obvious derision. “You’re stalling again.”

“I’m serious. In this day and age, what possible reason could you have for not hiring women?”

“You want the truth?”

“I’d love the truth.”

“Okay. Here it is. It’s a simple equation of muscle mass.”

She gave herself an extra beat to frame her response. She knew this was her last and only chance to change his mind. Simple, she decided. Simple and direct was her best bet.

“Skills can overcome muscle mass.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, surprising her.

She felt encouraged. “And don’t discount knowledge and intelligence.”

He squared his shoulders, not looking at all like somebody who was about to capitulate. “I don’t discount knowledge and intelligence. I hire for skills. I hire for intellect. I hire for experience. I hire for proficiency. And when all of those elements are present, I then hire for strength and power.”

“I have all of those things.”

“How much do you even weigh?”

“A hundred and twenty pounds. Almost.”

He shook his head in a pitying way. “Two guys come at you, big guys, five hundred pounds between them. What do you do?”

“Shoot them,” she said without hesitation.

“You’re unarmed.”

Mila knew two could play at this game. “What about you? How do you control a situation where the other guys are armed and you’re not?”

“I’m never not.”

“You know what I mean.” She stared levelly across at him. “There are times when even you, Mr. Two Hundred...whatever—”

“Two-fifteen.”

“Mr. Two-Fifteen, all muscle and sinew, are overpowered by the opposition.”

“Less often than you,” he said softly.

Something had shifted in the depths of his eyes, and she felt the sexual awareness all over again. He’d moved closer as they spoke. Or maybe she’d moved closer. But she could smell him now, and he smelled good. Another couple of inches, and she’d feel the heat of his body.

She told herself she wanted to fight him, not kiss him. But she knew it was a lie. She’d been trained to face the honest reality of any physical encounter. Anything less put her at an absolute disadvantage.

“You’re trying to distract me,” she said.

“You’re the one trying to distract me.” He leaned in, closing the gap between them even farther.

“It’s not on purpose.”

“Of course it is.”

“You think I can do that?” she asked, easing closer. “With you? With all that self-discipline you must have, I could distract you with sex?”

His expression faltered.

“If I can,” she continued, “you should probably hire me, because that’s something over and above what any of the muscle-bound brotherhood can accomplish.”

“That’s your strongest attribute?” he taunted. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to brag about it.” But his gaze kept hers trapped, and the air seemed to thicken around them.

She realized her mistake. “It’s not my strongest attribute.” As she spoke, she surreptitiously shifted her right hand around his side. “My strongest attribute right now is the knife pointed at your kidney.”

“You don’t have a knife.”

“It’s in its sheath. But I do have a knife.”

He moved, and she instantly jerked her fist against him to show she could have stabbed him.

He grabbed her wrist, and his other hand went to her throat.

“You’re dead,” she told him.

“I’m bleeding out,” he agreed. “But you’re dead, too.” His hand gently stroked the skin of her neck.

“Am I hired?” she asked.

“You’re insane.”

His voice was a whisper. His face hovered over hers. She smelled his skin, imagined the taste of his lips, the feel of his body enveloping hers.

He was going to kiss her. It was in the smoke of his eyes, the twitch of his fingers, the indrawn breath that tightened his chest. She shouldn’t let him. She couldn’t let him. But she knew she was going to let him. And it was going to be fantastic.

Kassidy’s excited voice sounded through the doorway. “Mila?”

Troy instantly stepped back.

Mila snapped to reality. “In here.”

“I’ve got a gig tonight,” Kassidy sang. “It’s a good one. The Ripple Branch on Georgia Avenue. They had a cancellation.”

She appeared in the doorway. “Oh, hi, Troy.” She focused her attention on Mila. “Can you come with me?”

“Love to,” Mila immediately answered.

Kassidy barely took a breath. “You okay to babysit?” she asked Troy.

“What?” The question clearly took him aback. It was probably the only thing that stopped him from ordering Mila not to go anywhere with Kassidy.

Mila knew she shouldn’t laugh at his obvious predicament, but it was tough to fight the urge.

“Drake should go to sleep by eight,” said Kassidy. “And I don’t have to leave until seven. I could have everything ready in advance. All you’d have to do is give him a quick bath, a bottle, and wind up his rainbow jungle toy. He loves watching it while he falls asleep.”

“Sounds easy enough,” said Mila.

“Go away,” Troy growled under his breath. “You don’t work here.”

“Your sister needs protection.”

“My sister needs a nanny.”

“Before you fight with me, take a look at what I’ve found,” said Mila. “I wouldn’t call your sister’s situation high risk, but it’s not zero either.”

“Nothing’s zero,” he said.

“There’s something there,” she said.

It was just out of reach, like the wisps of a dream. But Kassidy’s anxiety was real. The girl’s instincts were telling her to protect herself. Mila didn’t like to ignore instincts.

“You’re so transparent,” he drawled.

“Fine,” said Mila. “Believe whatever you want. Hire me, don’t hire me, but I’m going to the performance with Kassidy tonight.”

“It’s a free country,” said Troy, his blue eyes going icy gray. “Call a nanny service before you go,” Troy said to Kassidy. “I’m not your babysitter.”

“It’ll be easy,” said Kassidy.

“I’ve got work to do.”

Mila fought an urge to tease him, but she bit back the unwise words. She’d accompany Kassidy to the performance tonight and file a report with Troy in the morning. Maybe he’d read it. Maybe he wouldn’t. Even if her work was exceptional tonight, it might not change his mind. There might be nothing she could do to change his mind about hiring her. But she wasn’t going down without a fight.

* * *

In the ops control room, Vegas turned his head at Troy’s entrance. He did a double take of Drake sleeping on Troy’s shoulder.

“New recruit?” he asked.

“It’s the apprenticeship program,” said Troy, his hand splayed across Drake’s diaper-covered bottom, easily balancing the baby’s slight fifteen pounds.

Two dozen video screens decorated the walls, receiving feeds from fixed and mobile cameras, tracking devices and information from their international offices. This time of night, people were just arriving at work in Dubai.

“I take it this is the new nephew,” said Vegas.

“He’s not my—” Troy stopped himself. He supposed, technically, Drake was going to be his nephew. “There’s a nanny on the way. She had car trouble or kid trouble or something.”

All Troy knew for sure was that he was alone with Drake, and he didn’t like it.

“Kassidy’s out on the town?” asked Vegas, disapproval in his tone.

“She’s working.” Which he imagined was pretty much the same thing for Kassidy.

Troy had protected a lot of celebrities over the years. With a few notable exceptions, sports stars and film personalities were mostly professional. The lion’s share of what made it into the tabloids was a part of their carefully crafted public image. Musicians, however, were a breed unto themselves. They kept late hours, drank and partied, and a lot of them truly lived the rock-and-roll lifestyle.

Vegas eyed Drake up and down. “I don’t get it,” he said. “It would be one thing if she got knocked up.”

“You do remember you’re talking about my sister.” Troy wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to defend her at this late date.

Vegas’s brow went up. “Well, excuse me, but isn’t this the baby sister who trashed three rooms at the Poco Hollywood Hotel?”

“She had help.”

To keep the whole thing out of court, Troy had paid the bill.

“She’s not exactly mother material,” said Vegas.

Troy couldn’t disagree with that. He briefly tightened his hold on Drake. Poor kid. This was likely to be a rocky ride.

“I’m thinking a full-time nanny,” said Troy.

Vegas coughed out a chopped laugh. “One for each of them?”

Troy opened his mouth to defend her again, but he had nothing to say. There was no point in pretending Kassidy was in any position to raise a child. Why a terminally ill single mom had made his sister promise to take guardianship of an innocent baby was a mystery to him.

“I saw Mila leave with Kassidy.” Vegas let the sentence hang.

“I didn’t hire her,” said Troy.

“Does she know that?”

“Yes.”

Vegas gave a crooked smirk.

“She may not have accepted it yet,” said Troy.

“But she’s not equipped.” It wasn’t a question. If Mila had a company camera or communications device, Vegas would see it on his monitors.

“It’s not an op,” said Troy. “It’s a performance.”

“So you’ve analyzed the data.”

“Not all of it. Not yet. It’s fan letters. If Kassidy wants to flail around onstage in lingerie while she belts out pop tunes, guys are going to make comments.”

“You think there’s no danger?”

“Do you think there is?”

Vegas shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“There. Good.” Troy sat down on one of the rolling desk chairs. “What’s going on in the Middle East?”

Vegas zoomed in on a camera. “Prince Matin had a late night, but he’s up and around, and the car is out front of the hotel.”

“Gotta love the partying spirit of the reformers,” said Troy.

Vegas grinned. “He had a supermodel on his arm when he finally left the reception.”

Prince Matin was in his early thirties, had plenty of money and was a genuine supporter of capitalism and an improved regulatory regime. He had the respect of his countrymen and an understanding of the West. That was a rare enough combination that nobody seemed to care what he did in his private life.

“Any new chatter about the protest?” Troy asked.

“It’s been quiet enough. John’s got five guys going undercover in the crowd. They’re liaising with the city police.”

“The minute the speech is over tonight, we put him behind the glass.”

“That’s the plan,” said Vegas.

There were sensitivities around the podium being behind bulletproof glass, but they’d erected a barrier on each side of the stage, so only one dignitary would be exposed at any given time.

“The snipers?” Troy asked.

“Two of ours and five will be from the police department. Matin agreed to the bulletproof vest.”

“That’s a first.”

Drake wriggled on Troy’s shoulder, moving his head back and forth, and Troy readjusted his hold.

“What are you going to do if he gets hungry?” asked Vegas.

“The nanny should be here any minute.” Troy extracted his cell phone and pressed the speed dial for the front reception.

“Yes, boss?” came Edison’s voice.

“Any sign down there of Alice Miller from Total Tykes?”

“Nothing so far. Problem, boss?”

“Not yet.”

But Vegas did have a point. Eventually Drake was going to get hungry.

“Shall I track her down?” asked Edison.

“Sure. See what you can do.” Troy assumed Edison would start with the agency’s phone number rather than a city-wide traffic cam search.

“Did Kassidy leave you a bottle?” asked Vegas as he double-checked a set of GPS markers in France.

Troy wasn’t sure he’d understood the question. “Say again?”

“I take it the nanny is MIA. Check your refrigerator. I bet you find bottles of formula.”

“She’s a nanny, not a fugitive. She’ll be here any second.”

“Just giving you a contingency.”

Drake wiggled again.

“Since when do you care about babies?” asked Troy.

“He seems a little restless.”

“He’s supposed to sleep for hours.”

“Whatever you say.” Then Vegas zoomed in on a screen. He went still and flicked a switch on his headset. “Boomer’s on that job in Rio, remember? He’s on the run.”

Troy’s focus was instant. “What happened?”

Vegas reached for the intercom to put the feed on the speakers, but Troy grabbed his arm. “You’ll wake him.”

Vegas nodded, withdrawing his hand to leave the sound coming to his headset. “Shots were fired.”

“At the band?” Troy could barely believe it.

Vegas paused. “Nobody hit. They’re in the bus headed for the hotel.”

Boomer was at a Rio de Janeiro jazz festival with a California band. The festival attracted thousands, but it didn’t have a history of violence. It had been considered a routine operation.

“They think it was probably celebratory gunfire,” said Vegas. “But Boomer wasn’t taking any chances.”

“Good decision,” said Troy.

“Roger that,” Vegas said into his microphone. He flicked a smile. “No longer headed for the hotel. They happened onto a beach party. Boomer will pull in a couple of reinforcements.”

“Gotta be a hundred parties there tonight,” said Troy.

“I wouldn’t mind an assignment in Rio,” said Vegas.

“I’d take anything with palm trees right about now.”

There were no windows in the DC control room, but the day had been cloudy and gray, October drizzle turning into November cold.

Troy’s phone buzzed.

He could only hope it was Edison with good news.

“Yeah?”

“Troy? It’s Mila.”

Her voice took him by surprise. For some reason it seemed to resonate right down to his bones.

“What are you doing with my direct line?” he asked.

“Kassidy gave it to me.”

Drake wriggled against his shoulder, and Troy lowered his voice. “Next time, call the switchboard.”

“Sure.” She went silent.

“Is something wrong?”

“I thought you’d like an update.”

“What I’d like is a nanny.”

“The nanny’s not there yet?”

“No,” he said.

“Where is she?”

“I have no idea. You want to come back and take over?”

“Kassidy is onstage. The crowd’s going nuts. You know, Troy, she really is good.”

“I know she’s good.”

“I mean good, good. There’s something in the crowd. It’s an energy, almost a fervor. This is about to go big-time, and you really do need to think about formalizing her security.”

“Let me guess, you want to head the task force?”

“Sure.”

“That was a joke, Mila.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You’re angling for a job.” He wasn’t buying what she was selling.

“Is that deductive reasoning 101?”

“Ha-ha.”

“Gotta go. We’ll talk later.” The line went dead.

Troy heaved a sigh and pocketed his phone while Drake kicked his little legs and whimpered in his sleep. Anybody could see this babysitting thing was all about to go south.

Vegas turned from the monitor screens to gaze at the baby. “You ready to talk about the formula contingency plan?”