Not on His Watch

by Cassie Miles

  Impatiently, she turned away from the window. Where was her father? Why was he taking so long? The minute he stepped through the door to his office, she’d pounce and demand to know the truth. As if that would make him tell her. Nobody ever forced Henry Van Buren to play his hand.

  Her father entered his office and closed the door. Though he strode with his usual athletic vigor, his green eyes—exactly the same color as Natalie’s—seemed tired. “Good morning,” he barked.

  “I need to know what’s going on,” she said.

  “Read the Tribune.” He sank into the black leather chair behind his desk. “I have a job for you, and I don’t want you palming it off on an assistant.”

  She never shirked her responsibilities. Why would he even insinuate that she wasn’t a hard worker? “Before we talk about anything else, I want some answers. In five days, I’ll be speaking to that energy consortium in Washington, D.C., and I must be sure of what I need to say.”

  He tilted his head to one side, studying her as if he didn’t see her every Monday through Friday. “You look nice today, Natalie. That’s a pretty color.”

  “Loden green.” Her tailored, silk-blend blazer with matching knee-length skirt ought to look more than simply “nice.” This suit had cost a small fortune. “Back to business, Henry. I have a few questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The security in this building has been increased. New fish-eye cameras have been installed on the floors. There’s a new machine in the mail room for x-raying packages. Why?”

  “It was time for an upgrade.”

  He had on his poker face. Natalie recognized the expression because she often wore it herself. She and her father were very much alike—hardworking, skilled businesspeople who were absolutely dedicated to Quantum. Yet, they weren’t close. They never hugged. And they weren’t confidants.

  Natalie strolled across the carpet to his desk and casually picked up a clumsy-looking ceramic paperweight that she’d made for him when she was in fourth grade. “I hope we’re not going to the expense of upgrading security because of those stupid threatening notes I’ve received.”

  His poker face slipped. “I’d do anything to protect you, Natalie. You know that.”

  His sincere concern worried her. Though Natalie had been a bit disconcerted by the first couple of notes, she was more angry than anything else. She refused to be intimidated. But if her father was taking the threats seriously…

  “Next question,” he said.

  “Does this extra security have anything to do with the explosion in Reykjavik?”

  “You have the PR information on the explosion. An accident. What else?”

  “I’ve heard that someone is buying oil from Imad.”

  “There’s no law against it,” he said. “What does that have to do with Quantum?”

  “We’re not dealing with Imad?”

  “Hell, no. Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed can take a flying leap, as far as I’m concerned. In my opinion, the man is a murderous terrorist.”

  “I’m glad.” The moral center at Quantum always made her proud. Though they were a megacorporation in a sometimes dirty business, her father kept them on the high road. The suspected human rights abuses in Imad truly disgusted him. “What’s our position on Nurul?”

  “I’ve agreed to meet with Prince Zahir next week. Though he’s not officially part of their new government, he’s acting as emissary. But I don’t intend to buy from Nurul until their politics have stabilized.”

  “What’s the story with Zahir?”

  “Even though he’s supposedly engaged, he has the reputation of being a ladies’ man. Which makes me glad that you’re going to be out of town meeting with the energy consortium while he’s here.”

  Though her sense of being deceived lingered, she had to smile. Her father didn’t want her getting involved with a renegade prince from the Middle East. “Do you really think I’d fall for Zahir?”

  “You never know.” He scooted a stack of papers to the center of his desk and eyed the top sheet, apparently anxious to start work. “Are we finished with your questions and ready to start your new assignment?”

  “I’m not quite finished,” she said. “About my speech to the consortium, the legal department has compiled proof against the allegation that Quantum is a monopoly. Our contracts are clearly nonexclusive. According to—”

  “Hold it! This job assignment will give you a new perspective on contracts. I want you to spend the next couple of days with one of our oldest suppliers, the owner of Crawford Oil. His name is Quintin Crawford. He’s up here from Texas and would like to be shown around the town.”

  “You’re joking!” She had tons of work to do before she left town. “You want me to waste my time babysitting some minor-league supplier?”

  “Watch your attitude, Natalie. The loyalty of men like Quint is what keeps us in business.” He pressed a button on his intercom and spoke to his secretary. “Please show Mr. Crawford in here.”

  “No, Henry, my schedule is full. I can’t… I don’t want to…”

  Her objections faded to helpless sputtering when the door to her father’s office swung wide and an extremely tall man swaggered into the office. From the top of his black Stetson that almost scraped the upper edge of the door frame to the toes of his brushed-leather cowboy boots, he was every inch a Texan. He was not—definitely not—the type of sophisticated escort Natalie preferred.

  Though his denim jeans and suede jacket might pass for an eccentric fashion statement, the rest of his outfit was over the top. At the throat of his white cotton shirt was a bolo tie with a silver concha that matched the blindingly polished silver in his gigantic belt buckle.

  “Howdy, Miss Natalie,” he drawled. “Your daddy tells me you’re going to show me the town. I am much obliged.”

  “Hello, Mr. Crawford.” Her brain raced, trying to figure out ways she could dump this assignment. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Call me Quint.” He removed his ridiculous cowboy hat, strode toward her and stuck out his hand. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

  When she accepted his handshake, Natalie looked up at him. His brown hair was a little too long and untamed. A dark tan bronzed his features. His startling blue eyes, surrounded by crinkles from the sun, held her gaze. Strangely mesmerized, she saw wide-open skies, unlimited vistas and wildflowers—a breath of fresh air through her sterile corporate existence. His handshake was firm. His large hand engulfed her soft palm, but his touch was gentle and controlled.

  She swallowed hard. No way would she allow herself to be interested in a shaggy-haired cowboy.

  Her father came out from behind the desk and rested his hand on each of their shoulders. His gesture startled her. It felt as if he was giving them his blessing.

  “You two have fun today. All day. That’s an order, Natalie.”

  She didn’t mistake his meaning. Natalie would not be allowed to assign the task of sightseeing with Quint to an assistant. According to her father—the CEO of Quantum—this Texan was her problem.

  Chapter Two

  Before leaving Confidential headquarters, Quint had checked out the blueprints Andy had for the Quantum Building, a post-World War II skyscraper that had been upgraded and renovated several times, creating a security man’s nightmare. If a terrorist planned to hide a bomb within these walls, the options were endless. Thousands of square feet of cubicles, offices, boardrooms, bathrooms, cafeterias, mail rooms, exercise facilities and a parking garage made this structure into a thirty-two-story labyrinth of danger.

  Therefore, Quint had decided before he got here that he’d feel safer protecting Natalie on the streets of Chicago—far away from potential threats at Quantum. The way he figured, randomly selected destinations would lessen the opportunity for a planned assault, if, in fact, she was a target for these unnamed terrorists.

  After he and Natalie left her father’s office, he trailed her into the elevator. His gaze flicked to the ceiling. The center pane
l could be easily removed to gain access to the elevator shaft. In spite of security cameras, any of the eight elevators could be considered a possible bomb location.

  Disembarking on the twenty-fourth floor where her office was located, she asked, “Is there something special you’d like to see while you’re in Chicago? The stockyards, perhaps?”

  “We got steer in Texas, Miss Natalie. While I’m here, I got a hankering to see the sights of your fine city. If you don’t mind.”

  “The Art Institute?” she suggested.

  Her smooth alto voice held a challenge, as if she wouldn’t expect a cowboy to be interested in an outstanding art collection, but he didn’t take offense. He was undercover. His exaggerated “good old boy” routine was meant to be disarming; nobody would suspect him of being a bodyguard.

  Reinforcing her impression that his idea of culture was the local hoedown, he asked, “At the Art Institute, do you suppose they’ve got any of the cows?”

  “Cows?” Her eyebrows lifted.

  “Y’all had painted cows on the streets for a while. Isn’t that right?”

  “Oh yes, the Chicago Cows. Dozens of life-size cow statues with designs by contemporary artists. It was a very successful public display.” She strode down the hall toward her corner office. “But I’m afraid the herd has gone back to the barn.”

  Though her tone was professionally cordial, Quint had the impression that she’d be thrilled if he, too, would retire to the hayloft and leave her alone. “Too bad,” he said.

  “After I check in with my secretary,” she said, “I have a lunch date with an old friend from boarding school. I should make other arrangements for you. I’m sure you’d be bored to death with our girl talk.”

  “Don’t inconvenience yourself.” Quint already knew about the lunch date. Natalie’s school friend was none other than Whitney MacNair Romeo. “I’ll tag along with you ladies.”

  When she hesitated, probably trying to come up with another excuse to dump him, Quint added, “Your daddy told me you got real good steak in Chicago.”

  Her father was the only person at Quantum who knew the nature of Quint’s assignment, and Henry Van Buren was relieved to have a bodyguard for his headstrong daughter. The mention of his name had the desired effect on Natalie; she wouldn’t disobey direct orders from the Quantum CEO.

  With an icy smile, she said, “Of course, you’re welcome to lunch with us.”

  Entering the outer office, Natalie tossed off a casual introduction of Quint and her executive secretary, Maria Luisa Moreno.

  But he wasn’t so cavalier. He’d been raised by his grandma from Alabama, who insisted on good manners and Southern hospitality. He shook the secretary’s hand and looked straight into her dark pretty eyes. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Maria Luisa. I’m a supplier for Quantum, visiting for a few days from Texas.”

  The slender black-haired woman sized him up in a glance, then she smiled, slow and sultry. “I would’ve guessed Texas.”

  “I reckon the Stetson is a dead giveaway.” He sensed her approval and felt gratified by her warmth. It didn’t hurt to have Natalie’s secretary on his side. “I used to have a girlfriend named Mary Lou. Mind if I call you that?”

  Her sooty eyelashes lowered seductively. “For you, I’ll be Mary Lou. And you can call me anytime—”

  “Maria Luisa.” Natalie interrupted their flirtation. “Was there anything important in the mail?”

  “Not really.” She released Quint’s hand and resumed a professional pose. “When I came in, there was another of those hand-addressed envelopes marked Personal. I left it unopened on your desk.”

  Quint was immediately alert. Where there were threats and a bombing, mysterious envelopes raised a red flag. He strode into the office behind Natalie, but he beat her to the desk and snatched the padded brown envelope before she had a chance to touch it.

  “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

  Obviously irritated, she reached for the package. “If you don’t mind, I can handle my own mail.”

  Not if it’s a letter bomb. “I don’t see a postmark. Your secret boyfriend must be somebody in the building.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She made another grab, and he changed hands, keeping the package beyond her grasp. “How come you’re so sure?”

  “If you must know, I’ve been receiving similar packages for the past couple of weeks. The contents are definitely not love notes.”

  “Then, what are they?” He pretended ignorance, wishing like hell that he could simply tell her his job. This game of keep-away was getting silly. “Gosh, Miss Natalie, this package isn’t a threat, is it?”

  “What if it is?”

  Her hands balled into fists, which she planted on her hips. A red flush of anger climbed her slender throat, coloring her smooth, delicate skin a bright pink. Though she wasn’t aware of the change, she looked vivacious and pretty as a rose petal. By contrast, her voice was like steel.

  “That’s my mail, Quint. I’ll thank you to set the package on my desk.”

  He shook his head. “Your daddy wouldn’t like that, especially after he went to all the trouble of installing an X-ray machine in the mail room.”

  “How did you know about the security upgrade?”

  Quint was impressed that she’d already caught him off guard. Within minutes after meeting him, Natalie was poking holes in his cover. “I’m just naturally nosy, I guess. Let’s just run this package down to the mail room and check it out.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said.

  Quint knew that with the other packages, she had followed procedure and turned them over to security. They had found no traceable evidence. No fingerprints. A generic brand of paper. The messages were printed using a common brand of computer printer.

  He wondered why she was reluctant with this package. Did she have a reason for downplaying the threat? Her father had warned him that Natalie liked to do things her way. Quint’s game of keep-away had probably ticked her off.

  Turning away from him, she stepped around her desk and began shuffling through the phone messages. “I prefer not to waste time with this package. Just toss it in the trash.”

  He did as she asked. Later, he’d find a way to retrieve the package and give it to Andy at Chicago Confidential for more detailed analysis. It would’ve been a whole lot simpler to just take it with him, but being undercover created a lot of complications, especially on a bodyguard assignment. Since Quint couldn’t carry a side arm without causing questions, he counted on a modified .22-caliber Derringer hidden in his belt buckle. The hollowed-out heel of his left boot concealed a switchblade. The silver band on his black Stetson could be used as a garrote. All things considered, he felt well armed.

  It wasn’t so simple to get around the fact that Natalie didn’t know he was guarding her and, therefore, had no particular reason to pay attention to what he advised. Still, he urged her to be prudent. “Seems to me, Miss Natalie, that if you’re getting threats, you ought to be more careful.”

  “Thanks for your opinion.”

  “Maybe,” he suggested, “you should have a bodyguard.”

  “I can take care of myself.” Standing behind her desk, she signed a few standardized forms and made a couple of notes that she tossed into the out basket. “I’ve traveled extensively for Quantum, sometimes in hostile regions where the possibility of kidnapping was imminent. I’m fully trained in hand-to-hand combat, the use of firearms and evasive techniques.”

  Quint had a hard time imagining how this slim, sophisticated woman would deal with an actual assault. She was too tightly wrapped to scream, too manicured to risk breaking a nail. Though her green eyes sometimes sparked with energy, she seemed to be the perfect corporate vice president—predictable in every way.

  Her L-shaped office, though pleasantly furnished, was nothing spectacular, except for the well-lit painting on the wall opposite her desk in a conversation area. It was the only piece of artwork in the room
. Quint strolled over to take a closer look at a misshapen square of yellow. When he got nearer, there seemed to be other colors trapped inside the yellow. The big canvas seemed alive, teeming with secret color.

  “It’s an original,” she said. “The artist studied with Rothko.”

  “Valuable?”

  “Very,” she said. “I spent almost the entire budget for furnishing my office on that one painting.”

  Her choice said a lot about her character. She liked nice things and didn’t settle for second best.

  An interesting woman, Quint thought as he watched her clean up the accumulated work details on her desk. It’d be a damn shame if anything bad happened to her. Even if she’d had decent self-defense training, he doubted her amateur karate chops would stop a terrorist. “These—what did you call them—evasive techniques? What are they?”

  “Mostly common sense. Avoid danger. Stay within the boundaries of safety. If you see someone coming after you, run away.” She pantomimed jogging as she came around the desk. “Don’t be a hero. If you have a chance to escape, grab it!”

  In the blink of an eye, she thrust her arm into the trash can and retrieved the padded envelope. Her fingers poised at the edge, prepared to rip the seal.

  Quint reacted on pure instinct. His hand caught hold of her wrist, preventing her from opening the package. He yanked her toward him. Furious, he glared down at her. “You might have a death wish, Natalie. But don’t take me with you.”

  “I had no intention of opening this envelope,” she said defiantly. “I’m not an idiot.”

  Her wrist trembled in his grasp. Her body was inches from his. He could feel her heat, could hear the soft exhale of her breath. Her expensive perfume tickled his nostrils.

  Quint felt a prickling of his own, a twitch at his nerve endings as if something paralyzed inside him had begun to waken. By grabbing her wrist, he’d chosen survival over death. Was living another day so important to him? Or did his reaction spring from an innate urge to protect?

  Natalie wrenched away from him, leaving the package in his hands. She straightened the lapels of her blazer. “On our way out, we’ll take this possible letter bomb down to the X-ray machine in the mail room. Will that make you feel safer?”