by Cassie Miles
“Don’t move,” he ordered.
Natalie froze. Though she’d learned all the requisite moves, she doubted her ability to disarm him with a flying karate kick. She’d already hesitated too long. “I fell,” she said.
The other man groaned. “She kicked me. My knee—”
“Get up. Let’s go.”
She should act now! While the gunman’s attention was diverted toward his partner, she should—
Bursting through the festival tents came a man on horseback.
Natalie’s eyes widened as she stared at the gleaming white steed. The horse was draped in chains of flowers with a horn affixed to its forehead. A unicorn! The long mane flowed majestically. Quint rode toward them at a violent gallop.
The gunman turned, scrambled to his feet. He braced his weapon with both hands. Before he could fire, Quint charged into him, knocking him to the ground. As the second man took aim, Quint whirled on his horse and fired a pistol so small it was nearly hidden in his large hand. His aim was true. The curly-haired man dropped his weapon and gripped his shoulder.
Without firing again, Quint leaned down, grabbed her beneath her arms and scooped her off her feet. He dumped her facedown across the front of the unsaddled horse.
“Hang on,” he shouted as they thundered across Grant Park.
At the sound of gunfire, Quint ducked low over her body. Somehow, he managed to ride bareback, hold on to her and talk on a cell phone simultaneously. His voice was crisp. “Headed toward Shedd Aquarium. Request pickup. One suspect down. Move in.”
“What the hell is going on?” she demanded.
“Hold tight, Natalie.”
Flopping on the unicorn’s back like a sack of flour, she had no other choice. With one outstretched hand she clung to his thigh. The blood rushed to her head. Her cheek bounced against the flank of the horse. Had she really been rescued by a cowboy riding a unicorn? She must be losing her mind. This couldn’t really be happening.
At the edge of Lake Shore Drive, a mounted policeman met them. Quint leaped from the horse and hauled her down. Her feet hit the ground with a jolt and she realized that she’d lost her loafers in the wild ride. Her head was spinning. Her stomach churned. Oh God, she was going to vomit.
Quint nodded to the policeman, who gave him a quick salute and accepted the flower reins of the unicorn.
Natalie glanced over her shoulder. Some distance away, she saw other officers—and someone who looked like Agent Yoder—converging on the injured gunman.
Gently, Quint took her arm and guided her into the rear of a limousine. Breathing hard, she slumped against the leather seat. Her eyes were wide open, staring.
“Are you all right?” Quint asked.
“None of this is real,” she said. “It’s impossible.”
“But you’re okay, aren’t you? No broken bones?”
“I don’t know.” She moved her arms and legs. There were aches. There would be bruises. “It felt like I was going to throw up.”
“Should we pull over?”
She thought for a moment. “I’m okay now.”
Taking off his Stetson, he slipped on a headset and pulled out a retractable shelf equipped with a laptop computer. Tapping a few keys, he brought up a picture that looked like an aerial view of Grant Park. He zoomed in for a tight shot of the activity in the open field where the police were taking the man with the curly hair into custody.
Natalie was mesmerized by the computer screen. “Where is this picture coming from? How are you doing this?”
“Satellites and other security cams. I don’t know exactly how it works,” he said. “In this situation, an overhead view isn’t much good. There are too many trees in the way.”
“Amazing.”
“That’s the right guy, isn’t it?”
She stared at the video. It looked like something she might see at the movies, but she recognized the curly-haired assailant. Bitterly, she said, “That’s one of them.”
He spoke into the headset. “Second suspect might be limping. I hit him pretty hard.”
He switched the zoom focus to the festival grounds, then to the parade itself. Into the headset, he said, “Negative. Can’t pinpoint him.”
“Who are you talking to?” she demanded. Something very odd was going on here, and she wanted some answers.
When he turned to her, there was no evidence of the laid-back cowboy. His attitude was all business. “You need to help me, Natalie. Can you describe the second man?”
“Average height, maybe five foot ten. Skinny. Straight black hair. A mustache. Thin face. Almost no chin at all.”
Using a computer program similar to the one at Solutions, he created an approximate replica of the man’s face. “That’s pretty close,” she said.
Quint again spoke into the headset. “Transmitting witness identification now.”
As he concentrated on the task, Natalie observed the man she’d known as Quint Crawford—oilman and cowboy from Midland, Texas. To say the least, he was different. Efficient and capable, he performed with high-precision professionalism as he pounded the computer keys and gave crisp reports about surveillance and apprehension of suspects. Was he a spy? James Bond in a cowboy hat?
Gradually, the truth dawned upon her. Whenever she and Quint were on the street walking, his gaze was constantly busy, searching faces in the crowds. When he’d rescued her in the park, he’d been armed and amazingly capable. From the moment they’d met, he’d stuck to her side like Velcro. Why? Natalie had flattered herself by believing his attention was due to an attraction. Not so!
He stayed close to her because that was his job. Quint Crawford was a bodyguard.
And who did he work for? She glanced at the computer—so similar to the one in Whitney’s office. Natalie remembered her suspicions about the bug sweeper and her old friend’s concern for her safety. Solutions, Inc. was somehow involved.
A slow anger simmered in her belly as she added two and two. Her dear old friend Whitney and Quint and even her own father had conspired behind her back. Why hadn’t they told her the truth?
Quint removed the headset and slid the computer to one side. As he turned his attention toward her, Natalie muttered, “I suppose this is the part where I’m supposed to fall into your arms, flutter my eyelashes and tell you that you’re my hero.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t mind one bit.”
“Don’t hold your breath, cowboy. You’re a bodyguard, aren’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
Quint leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and rotated his shoulders to relieve the tension in his back. He hadn’t rode bareback since he was a kid. Rescuing her like that had been a crazy stunt, and he was damn lucky that he’d succeeded. If he’d failed, they might both be dead.
“You lied to me,” Natalie said.
“I suppose I did.”
He leaned back against the leather seat, closed his eyes and allowed the enormity of what had just happened to sink into his consciousness. When he’d seen Natalie trapped between those two cowardly bastards, his blood had raced like wildfire through his veins. He hadn’t thought of danger, hadn’t worried about the proper procedure in contacting backup. He became a primitive, ferocious, single-minded hunter. A warrior. His only aim was to rescue her. If she’d been hurt, he would’ve rained death on his enemies.
Quint knew—better than almost anyone else—what it was like to lose someone beloved to violence. After Paula was killed in the white skies over Texas, he died a thousand deaths with every day he missed her, every morning he woke to an empty space on her side of the bed.
He felt Natalie’s hand on his shoulder. “Quint? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he said.
“You’re shaking.”
From fear, the fear of losing her.
He swallowed hard, digesting the countless tears he’d shed over his wife’s untimely death. But when he opened his eyes, it was Natalie’s face he saw.
Her beautiful g
reen eyes shone with concern. Her lips, slightly parted, seemed unsure whether to smile or growl. She was different from Paula in a hundred ways. Yet, the sight of Natalie, the scent of her perfume and the sound of her voice awakened a strange tenderness he’d never expected to feel again.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said.
“And you?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
Looking at Natalie, knowing that she was alive and well, he felt the soul-deep pain beginning to heal. “I’m just fine.”
“Good.” She straightened her shoulders. “Because I’m going to kill you.”
“Answer a few questions first.” Though trying to be a good agent, he wanted only to brush a wisp of hair off her cheek and kiss her behind her ear. “What did those guys say to you?”
“Not much.”
“Any hint of why they grabbed you?”
She shook her head. “They said I’d find out soon enough.”
“I don’t suppose they called each other by name.”
“No.” She peeked through the window. “Where are we going?”
“To your condo. Somebody will be waiting to take care of you.”
“You’re not going to get rid of me so easily, Quint. I’m sticking with you. And I expect you’re going to Solutions, Inc. Correct?”
“How did you know that?”
“Logic.” She tapped the side of her head. “If you people won’t tell me the truth, I have to figure it out for myself.”
“It might be better for you to rest,” he said. “You’re probably full of bumps and bruises. A doctor should check you out.”
“I’m fine. And I’m coming with you.”
Instead of arguing, he spoke through the intercom with the driver and gave instructions to drop them off at the garage level at the Langston Building.
As they rode in silence, Natalie continued to stare through the tinted windows at the happy faces of Saint Patrick’s Day celebrants. Inwardly, she seethed. These lies were a slap in the face to her professionalism. All these people, even her own father, had treated her like a child who couldn’t be trusted. Thank goodness she hadn’t slept with Quint last night.
In the underground parking garage, she threw open the door of the limo and charged out, immediately stubbing her toe. Maintaining her dignity was difficult in her stocking feet, but Natalie held her head high as she strode across the concrete floor.
When the door to the elevator whooshed closed, she glared at Quint. “Aren’t you even going to pretend that you’re sorry?”
He adjusted his Stetson. “Nope.”
Infuriating man! “Where’d you get the gun?”
He hitched his thumbs in his pockets. “Belt buckle,” he said.
“Of course.” She’d known that huge silver discus was lethal. “Any other weapons I should know about?”
“A knife in my boot heel. The silver band on my hat can be used as a garrote.”
When other people joined them on the elevator, she noticed how Quint moved closer to her, subtly protecting her. An hour ago, she might have misinterpreted his actions, thinking he wanted to be near her for personal reasons. Now, she knew the truth.
At the Solutions offices, Natalie marched through the door, passed the empty receptionist desk and went into Whitney’s office. Her friend popped up from behind her desk. Standing at the window was a dark, handsome man dressed all in black. He turned as they entered and approached her with his hand outstretched.
“You must be Natalie. I’m Vincent Romeo.”
Though she shook his hand, Natalie made no pretense of friendliness. “You’re the director of Solutions, Mr. Romeo. I demand an explanation.”
He matched her bluntness. “There’s nothing you need to know. We’re handling the situation.”
“Are you? Thus far, I’ve received seven threatening notes. My office has exploded. And I was snatched in Grant Park. If you think this is how to handle a situation, I suggest you think again.”
“But you’re still alive,” he pointed out. “That might be considered a plus.”
His dark, smoldering looks were the very opposite of Whitney’s redhead complexion and her well-bred manner. At first glance, they seemed to be an unlikely match, but Natalie understood why they’d been attracted to each other. He gave her sexiness. She gave him class. No doubt, their children would be gorgeous.
This was not, however, a social call to congratulate the newlyweds. Natalie repeated, “I want to know the truth about your operation.”
Vincent reached across Whitney’s desk, picked up a brochure for Solutions, Inc. and handed it to Natalie.
“Not that,” she snapped. “Your other operation. The undercover work.”
He challenged her. “Give me one good reason why I should tell you anything more.”
From behind her back, she heard Quint clear his throat. “You know, Vincent, I think we should—”
“Excuse me.” She cut him off. This was a battle she could fight on her own. “Here’s your reason, Mr. Romeo. I’m in public relations. With three or four phone calls, I can have reporters crawling all over these offices, demanding to know the real job of Solutions, Incorporated. Gosh, I might even get you on Oprah.”
“As I was saying…” Quint stepped up beside her. “We need to tell Natalie what’s going on.”
“Might as well,” Whitney said. “She’s going to be a pain in the butt until we level with her.”
Vincent Romeo regarded her with a cool dark gaze. “You’re different from Whitney’s other friends.”
“I’m smart. I’m tough. And I’m determined.” Natalie stared back at him. “I’m also fair. If you cooperate with me, I won’t cause trouble.”
His gaze flitted between Quint and Whitney. Though they had both vouched for her, Vincent still seemed reluctant. Seeking to reassure him, she said, “As part of my job, I am required to keep certain information undisclosed. You can trust in my silence.”
“Okay, Natalie.” Vincent crossed the room and closed the office door. “You’ve already figured out that Solutions is a front.”
“But not a fake,” Whitney said. “Solutions does excellent work when it comes to computer consulting for businesses.”
“I’ll vouch for that,” Quint said. “They really have updated and streamlined the systems for my ranch.”
When she looked up at him, a burst of conflicted emotions flashed before her. She’d trusted him. She’d completely believed in his cornball cowboy act and had gone beyond his shield of humor to find a sensitive man—someone she cared about.
And it was all a lie.
Though she directed her question to Vincent, it was meant for Quint. “Who are you, really?”
“Chicago Confidential,” Vincent said. “We’re a branch of the Federal Department of Public Safety. The Confidential program started in Texas, operating strictly undercover to research and reveal illegal operations. Our agents are unique because most of them have other occupations, other lives. We call them in for specific assignments.”
“Like Quint,” she said. “He really is a Quantum supplier…and a cowboy from Texas.”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Vincent gave a slight ironic smile. “Do you have other questions?”
“Specifically, what is your current assignment?”
“Terrorist activity.”
“Based on threats against Quantum?”
“Yes,” Vincent said.
“Starting with the explosion in Iceland.”
“Correct.”
Natalie inhaled a deep breath. Extracting information from Vincent Romeo was like reading the fine print on a contract—too much was left unsaid. “Who’s behind these threats?”
“We don’t know.”
Whitney interjected, “Catching the guy in Grant Park could be a major coup. If he talks, he might point us in the right direction.”
“Do the officers in the Park work for you?”
Vincent frowned and shook his head. “We’re coordinatin
g with the FBI, the Chicago PD and other antiterrorist units.”
“I’m a little confused,” Natalie said. “How is Chicago Confidential involved?”
“Through our specific research capabilities and our undercover agents, like Quint. Don’t ask me to reveal other names.”
His tone reminded her that she was still an outsider. Fine. Knowledge of the inner workings of an undercover investigation was beyond the scope of her job description. However, like it or not, she’d been targeted.
“Why are they coming after me?”
“Again,” Vincent said, “we have conjecture, but we don’t know for sure until we hear the demands.”
Another possibility occurred to her. “Was I a suspect? Is that why I wasn’t told the truth?”
Quint said, “Nobody ever doubted your loyalty to Quantum. But we reckoned there might be somebody inside the company who was tied in with the terrorists.”
“Who?”
Quint shrugged. “We still don’t have definite answers.”
Damn him for being so reasonable! He never argued with her, never raised his voice above a low, sexy drawl. She glared at him. Did his eyes have to be so darn blue? Even now, a grin touched the corner of his mouth. Was he remembering their kiss in Grant Park? Was he laughing at her?
She turned away from Quint and spoke to Vincent. “Is Prince Zahir involved?”
“He’s a suspect. So is Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed. And Greely from the Solar Sons.”
“The Solar Sons,” Natalie said. That was the group Caroline had gotten involved with. “Do you seriously believe they’re involved in terrorism?”
“We haven’t ruled them out,” Vincent said. “Listen, Natalie, I can keep you updated on developments, but this is an ongoing investigation. I won’t promise minute-by-minute reports.”
“What about the guy who might have set the explosion in my office? Nick Beaumont from Little Rock?”
“No positive ID,” Vincent said. “Natalie, do you really want to know more?”
She paused to consider. At this point, she’d been given the basics. Her options were to walk away and allow these people to do their jobs or to become more seriously involved in their operation.
