Not on His Watch

by Cassie Miles

  Frankly, she had more than enough to keep herself busy. Day-to-day operations at Quantum were a full-time job. Plus, there was the fallout after the fire, and the Washington trip coming up on Monday evening.

  On the other hand, she might hold a key to rooting out these terrorists.

  “A moment ago, you asked why you should level with me,” she said. “Here’s the best reason I can think of. I can help.”

  Vincent’s brow lowered. “Not necessary.”

  “Nobody knows the inner workings at Quantum better than I do. Also, these people seem to be focusing on me, for some reason.”

  “She has a point,” Whitney said.

  “Bring me into the investigation,” Natalie said, “and you won’t be sorry. I have only one stipulation.”

  “What’s that?” Vincent asked.

  She avoided looking at Quint. “I want a different bodyguard.”

  The tension in the room was palpable to Natalie. She wondered if Vincent and Whitney could feel the crackling energy.

  “Why?” Vincent asked.

  Because he kissed me. Because he made me care about him. Because he might be the man who could break my heart. “He’s intrusive. It’s just not a good fit, okay? We don’t work well together.”

  She heard Quint chuckle. In his heavy drawl, he said, “Miss Natalie, that dog don’t hunt.”

  “Spare me the down-home humor.”

  Quint opened the office door. “Vincent and Whitney, would you please leave us alone for a moment.”

  As the newlyweds left the room, Natalie gathered her resolve. This would be the end of what might have been a relationship.

  Gently, Quint took her shoulders and turned her toward him. “What’s this about? I want the truth.”

  “You’re a fine one to be talking about honesty. Every minute we’ve been together has been a lie.”

  “Not exactly. I couldn’t tell you I was your bodyguard because you refused protection. Also, when I’m undercover, I play up the cowboy role so people won’t suspect me of being anything else. But that’s not a lie. It’s part of who I am.”

  He touched her chin and tilted her head up so she couldn’t avoid looking directly at him. “Natalie, where’s the deception?”

  “You led me on. I believed…” She’d believed he cared about her. She’d believed there was something deep and sensitive and—God help her!—romantic between them. How could she tell him those things? It was too humiliating. “Let’s just forget it. Vincent can assign another agent to be my bodyguard.”

  “I’m not dropping out,” he said. “I’m accepted at Quantum. There are leads I’m pursuing, and it would hurt the investigation for me to quit now.”

  His words confirmed her fears. The only reason he wanted to stay with her was dedication to his job. “I don’t want you around me.”

  “That’s just too damn bad because I’m the best there is, and I won’t entrust your safety to another agent. If anything happened to you, Natalie, I couldn’t take it.”

  “As if you care about me.”

  “I tried not to. When my wife was killed, I swore I’d never allow another woman to touch my heart, but you reached inside my chest and grabbed me hard.”

  “I did?” A strange excitement fluttered inside her.

  “From the first minute I saw your photo at a briefing,” he said, “I knew you were special. Then I got to know your courage, your loyalty, your inbred sense of honor. I even like your snooty attitude.”

  “You do?” She felt like the office was suddenly awash in brilliant sunshine.

  “I won’t back off this assignment,” he said. “I’m your bodyguard. And there is no way on God’s green earth that I’m going to let another man spend the night in your condo. Is that understood?”

  “Completely.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth.

  Chapter Eight

  Natalie had made such a big deal about learning the entire truth that she couldn’t very well turn her back on Vincent and make a mad dash for her condo, where she could be alone with Quint, exploring this wonderful new connection between them. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t ignore the threats against Quantum or herself, couldn’t disregard her responsibilities. And so, she tried to concentrate as Vincent and Whitney showed her the computerized marvels of Chicago Confidential.

  The special-operations room—with interconnected laptop computers built into the conference table—was truly impressive. Natalie should have been amazed by the screens, switches and knobs, the state-of-the-art communications. But all she could think about was Quint. Being held in his arms made her feel truly feminine…but not in a ruffles and froufrou way. She felt like a real woman, a quintessential female, eager to offer herself to him and be overwhelmed, ravished, devoured….

  “On this screen,” Whitney explained, “we have instant satellite access, providing overhead surveillance based on longitudinal coordinates, similar to Global Positioning System technology.”

  Dragging her attention back to the matters at hand, Natalie asked, “Can you see anything, anywhere in the world?”

  “Weather’s a problem. We can’t see through heavy cloud cover or storms.” She gestured to another piece of equipment. “This provides updated intelligence around the world, sorted by topic and time. This computer provides its own hacking devices.”

  “With all this equipment,” Natalie said, “it seems impossible that you still don’t know who’s coming after Quantum.”

  “That’s why we use undercover agents,” Vincent said. “No amount of technology can account for the unpredictability of human action. Like Quint rescuing you on horseback.”

  She smiled at him. Her hero! The tall, lanky cowboy with his honeyed drawl and his sexy blue eyes had none of the qualities she looked for in a mate. And yet, he was perfect.

  His gaze locked with hers, steady and somehow possessive. She remembered the tremor that had gone through her when he said he wouldn’t allow another man to spend the night in her condo.

  But now he was more businesslike. “Our conclusion,” Quint said, “is that the bomber who attacked Quantum is a hired contractor.”

  “Nick Beaumont?” she asked.

  “He’s numero uno on my suspect hit parade,” Quint said. “First we apprehend him, then we go after the person or group who hired him.”

  “I still don’t understand why they’re targeting Quantum,” Natalie said. “What do they want?”

  “Until they make demands, we don’t know what they want.”

  Whitney pressed a few computer keys and displayed a photograph of a man who was familiar to Natalie. “Hutch Greely.”

  “Leader of the Solar Sons,” Whitney said. “Though they haven’t been officially accused of eco-terrorist tactics, they’ve been suspected in a couple of bombing incidents.”

  Natalie frowned, immediately thinking of her sister, Caroline. “I can’t imagine the Solar Sons are capable of something as complex as a bombing in Reykjavik.”

  “But they might have hired someone who would use such a tactic,” Whitney said. “And they have a contact inside Quantum. Gordon Doeller.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “We checked his phone records and his e-mail. He’s been in touch with Greely.”

  Apprehension crept over her. Though Natalie had received an e-mail from Caroline saying that she was fine and would be back in Chicago soon, she hadn’t spoken to her sister. Had Caroline’s well-meaning passion for the environment led her into danger? “Now you’ve got me worried about Caroline. I know she went downstate with the intention of visiting the Solar Sons.”

  “So, she obviously knows the location,” Whitney said. “The next time you e-mail her, ask exactly where she is.”

  But Caroline would never fall for such an obvious ploy. Nor would she willingly betray her eco-cult buddies to big, mean Natalie. She gestured to the knobs, dials and flashing lights. “Can we use this equipment
to track down my sister?”

  “We have an agent working on that angle,” Vincent said. “Lawson Davies.”

  “Head of the legal department at Petrol?”

  “Yes.”

  Her tentative uneasiness gave way to hostility. Though she hadn’t been close to her sister since they were children, Natalie knew that Caroline had a history with the Petrol attorney. She’d had an affair with Law, after which he’d unceremoniously dumped her.

  “On behalf of my sister, I think I can say—without any doubt—that Law Davies is an unmitigated jerk. Another agent should be assigned to the Solar Sons. Immediately.”

  Vincent regarded her coolly. He obviously didn’t like to have his decisions questioned. “Quint, is she always like this?”

  “Yes, sir,” Quint said.

  “I’m trying to be useful,” she said. “My sister has close ties to the Solar Sons. She could provide inside information, but she wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to Law Davies.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Vincent said. “Whitney, please bring up the next photo.”

  Gordon Doeller. He was shaking hands with Zahir.

  “Wait a minute,” Natalie said. “I thought Gordon was connected to the Solar Sons.”

  “He is,” Vincent said. “And also to the prince.”

  Natalie scoffed. “There’s nothing strange about that. Gordon is vice president in charge of marketing. He’s familiar with the heads of most Middle Eastern nations. For that matter, so am I.”

  “We suspect Gordon has more intimate ties with Zahir and those ties lead to Sheik Khalaf Al-Sayed in Imad. Gordon might be brokering an oil deal that would ultimately be distributed through Quantum.”

  These were serious allegations. Though Imad wasn’t technically under United States sanctions, Quantum had taken the lead in refusing to buy from the renegade sheik. It made Quantum look bad if there was an under-the-table deal.

  Natalie sank into one of the chairs at the conference table. If Chicago Confidential had this information, the people she’d be seeing in Washington on Monday certainly possessed the same data. When she met with them, she might be walking into a lion’s den.

  “Do you have proof of these sales?”

  “It’s hard to trace,” Whitney said. “Like money laundering. Imad has sold to someone else who sold to another and so on.”

  “And finally to Quantum. Are you sure Gordon is making the transaction?”

  “No,” Whitney said. “We’ve been monitoring his bank accounts and have seen no unusual activity.”

  “What about numbered Swiss accounts?” Natalie asked. “He could hide money there.”

  “We have limited access to offshore banking and Swiss accounts, but so does Gordon. If he’s stashed his payoff money somewhere else, he’ll have to leave the country to use it.”

  “Could his motive be political?” So much of the oil business had become political—from making complex deals with ever-changing Middle East governments to appeasing the ecology protesters in the United States.

  “According to our profile,” Whitney said, “Gordon Doeller’s motive is pure greed.”

  “I can help with this.” Tomorrow evening, Natalie was scheduled to have a private dinner with Zahir. Possibly, she could deduce his connection with Doeller or with someone else. “I need access to all the data you have on this oil-laundering scheme. I have a meeting with Zahir, and maybe I can—”

  “No,” Vincent said. “You’re not an agent, Natalie.”

  “Quint would be with me,” she said.

  Quint spoke up. “It’s a good opportunity. Natalie and I should go ahead with this meeting.”

  Before Vincent answered, the door to the special-operations room opened. Zahir himself stepped inside. He nodded pleasantly and said his good afternoons.

  Natalie’s throat constricted. Her natural instinct was to gape, but her years of training in public relations and protocol helped her maintain poise. In fact, her posture straightened as she leaped to her feet.

  Quint touched the small of her back, guiding her toward the prince. “Natalie Van Buren, this is Javid Haji Haleem, the twin brother of Prince Zahir.”

  She’d been aware that Zahir was a twin, but she wasn’t prepared for the startling resemblance. She was surprised when Javid approached her with hand outstretched.

  “I’m glad to finally meet you, Ms. Van Buren. Anbar has been doing business with Quantum for many years.”

  “Yes,” she said, regaining her composure. “We’ve always dealt with your minister of Commerce.”

  “Your dealings have been very efficient,” he said. “There has been no need for me to interfere.”

  “Education,” she remembered. “You travel as a goodwill ambassador, promoting education and awareness of Anbar.”

  He nodded. “There’s much to do in a developing nation.”

  As they conversed about education, literature and human rights, she decided that Javid and Zahir were like flip sides of the same coin. Both were gorgeous and charismatic. But Zahir was dangerous, and Javid was enlightened.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t know you were in Chicago, Prince Javid. Quantum would surely have arranged a reception for you.”

  “For now, I prefer to have my whereabouts unknown.”

  Another undercover person? “Is everybody in this office hiding something?”

  “That’s our job,” Whitney said.

  Natalie rolled her eyes. She felt as if she were standing on ever-shifting sands. These people changed identities as easily as normal people changed clothes. Nothing was as it seemed. “I don’t think I’d like working here.”

  Quint gently took her arm and said, “I think Natalie and I should be heading out. We’ll stay in touch.”

  She made no objection as he whisked her out of the room. In the reception area, she came face-to-face with a tall, handsome man dressed in kilts and a tartan. He was a little unsteady on his feet, obviously the result of too much green beer.

  “I’m looking for Kathy Renk,” he said.

  “And who are you supposed to be? Mel Gibson?”

  “I’m Liam Wallace, a Scotsman. And I’m honoring Saint Patrick’s Day.”

  “The new maintenance man,” Quint informed her. “I think he’s a little infatuated with our receptionist. Is that right, Liam?”

  “It’s a possibility.” The several syllables seemed to tangle on his tongue.

  Kathy Renk, dressed in a green jumper, came into the room, scowled at Liam and then laughed when he swept her a bow and offered to escort her to the festivities. Together, they swaggered out the door.

  Natalie turned to Quint. “This has been the most unbelievable day.”

  “Guess so,” he said. “I’m surprised you never met Javid before.”

  “I’ve met with Anbar’s ministers, but not Javid. He was probably too busy doing whatever undercover thing he does.”

  “Antiterrorism,” Quint said. “He investigates terrorism.”

  Unbelievable! Everyone with this operation had a secret identity. She glanced toward an open office. “Do you think Whitney would mind if I used one of these computers to check my e-mail?”

  “Worried about Caroline?” Quint guessed.

  “A little.” She sat down at the flat-screen computer and accessed her own e-mail account.

  Caroline had responded. Her terse message said:

  Natalie, you are totally wrong about the Solar Sons. All they want is what’s best for the earth. Please try to understand. Love, Caroline.

  Natalie stared at the computer screen, annoyed that her sister was so easily conned by eco nonsense. Then she thought of Javid and his evil brother, Zahir. Siblings were a pain in the neck.

  NICCO WAITED at Union Station, standing below the ornately sculpted clock with white face and black Roman numerals. The clock hands measured one slow minute after another. Each tick echoed against the marble floors and the majestic vaulted ceiling. The relentless passage of time created order for the train passe
ngers and commuters.

  Today, Nicco’s timing had been off.

  He should have stayed with his original plan. Nothing good ever came from improvisation. But when he’d seen the crowd at the parade route and the relatively simple escape to Lake Shore Drive, he couldn’t resist. The possibility of apprehending Daughter had seemed easy.

  Nicco hadn’t counted on Cowboy riding to her rescue. He had underestimated his adversaries. And he had failed. It wouldn’t happen again.

  He stared up at the clock. Today, his disguise included a baggy tweed suit, a valise and a beard. The spirit gum used to fasten his facial hair had begun to itch. Beneath his gray wig, he sweated like a pig.

  In three minutes, he would deliver the first installment of the agreed-upon payoff for a well-connected mercenary. Twenty-five thousand dollars.

  Although the expense was budgeted, Nicco had hoped to avoid payment. If the attempt to seize Daughter had succeeded, the services of this mercenary would have been unnecessary.

  The clock ticked to the appointed time, and a tall, lean man with a prominent jaw and tight grin came toward him with arms outstretched. “Uncle,” he said, “you’ve come to meet me. Is Monique well?”

  Nicco replied with his half of the coded greeting. “Cold spring water agrees with her.”

  Side by side they climbed the stairs leading to the street. The battered valise dangled between them. The smiling mercenary said, “You had a change in plans today.”

  “An opportunity presented itself,” Nicco said.

  “Who is Cowboy?”

  “Quint Crawford from Texas.” Though he’d searched all sources, Nicco had found nothing unique or special about Cowboy, except for the death of his wife. “He’s not important. Just a boyfriend.”

  “Your men were thwarted by an unimportant Texan. This causes me to worry.”

  “Don’t,” Nicco said. “All you need to know is how to play your part.”

  The mercenary closed his grip around the handle of the valise, taking it from Nicco with a slight tug. “One of your men was apprehended today.”