“And that’s why all the overt clues and threats of assassination. I bet he planted every one, all to be used as evidence that he was innocent later on. All lies, just like he was going to claim I went after you and we both got stuck and died when the old freezer malfunctioned.”
She snorted smugly. “Surprise, surprise, Governor. We are so not dead.”
“And he doesn’t know what you look like,” Ben reminded her. “So once we worm our way into this event, I’ll stay in the back and you…” His voice trailed off.
“I what?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Some things you have to figure out as you go along. You’re pretty good at that.”
“Yep.” She gave his hand a squeeze as they worked toward the front entrance and he flashed his bodyguard’s license and the campaign badge he’d held onto from the last event he worked for McManus. And they were in.
They strolled around the room where the speech would take place, but behind the closed doors of a community room, afternoon tea was just getting underway.
“We have to get in there,” Ben said, eyeing the lone guards at three different doors and not recognizing any of them. The few bodyguards they had were hired hands, not even professionals on the company staff. Not second-rate—these clowns were tenth-rate.
They didn’t even have a metal detector at the door, but Callie was right. McManus didn’t want strong security. In fact, he’d hired the worst security he could find… after he’d fired the best.
“She’s the one,” Callie said, indicating a female guard by the farthest door, who seemed more interested in checking her cell phone than anyone who approached the door. “Go talk to her. Stand in front of her. Melt her with those bedroom eyes.” She nudged him. “Use your devil-given gifts, Ben Youngblood.”
“Okay, I’ll flirt, and when you get in your number one priority is to make sure Mrs. McManus doesn’t eat anything.”
With that, they separated, and Ben headed over to the woman, who was an easy mark. In two minutes, he had her talking, laughing, and sharing pictures of the governor on her cell phone and ignoring the door behind her. That was enough for Callie to slip into the community room when someone else stepped out.
A minute later, Ben changed his strategy with the female guard.
“Let me go in there,” he said, lowering his voice, turning serious, and getting a little closer.
Some color rose on her cheeks. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“You can.” He brushed his knuckles over her shoulder. “I’m a huge fan of McManus’s and I just want one picture. I’ll stay right back here. You can stand with me.” Whatever it took, he had to see what was going on in that room. “I’d like that,” he added.
She looked side to side, then nodded. “One minute,” she said, holding up a finger. “Then you leave.”
When she pushed open the door, Ben instantly took a mental snapshot of the layout, his gaze landing on Governor and Mrs. McManus side by side at a round table in the middle of the room.
Although everyone was getting food and tea from the side buffets, a server had just set a plate in front of the governor’s wife.
He spotted Callie, noticing her blouse and skirt blended in well-enough with the servers wearing white tops and black pants. When their eyes met, Callie nodded toward the governor’s table, her brows lifted in question.
Was she going to stop Angela McManus from eating? Or just check out what was on her plate?
He lifted his own brow, silently giving her the go ahead for whatever she had in mind. Go with your gut, Callie Parrish. He had a feeling hers was as good as his.
Instantly, she slid her hand under a large tray of discarded water glasses and coffee cups, hoisting it over her head and moving like she’d been a waitress all her life.
No one even gave her a second look.
She strolled across the room, headed directly for the governor’s table, with one more look at Ben. He nodded and, wouldn’t you guess, the little bodyguard next to him caught it.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He didn’t take his eyes off Callie.
“Something’s going on,” the woman said, bristling next to him. “Who is she? Who are you?” She raised her voice just loud enough to turn a few heads, including the governor’s.
McManus’s jaw dropped like he saw a ghost. “What the—?”
Just that second, Callie reached the table, inches from Mrs. McManus, who picked up her fork to scoop up a bite of food. Callie jerked the whole tray forward, dumping all the glasses and coffee cups all over Mrs. McManus, who shrieked and jumped, along with half the room.
“I’m so sorry!” Callie called out, lowering the tray to get closer, then picking up a glass on the table and dousing her food just in case it wasn’t wet enough.
The woman next to Ben grabbed his arm. “Don’t you move.” But he jerked out of her touch, powering forward as Governor McManus stood slowly, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“What are you doing here?” he rasped at Ben.
“Thought I was dead, Roy?”
McManus waved to a distant bodyguard. “This man is—”
“A bodyguard.” Ben reached the table and put his hand on Callie’s shoulder, easing her to the side, away from McManus. “And my partner just saved your wife’s life, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know.”
“Again, Ben?” McManus said. “Twice in one day you’re going to pull this stunt? Security!”
“Eat her food,” he said, pointing at the plate.
“What?”
“Eat it. If you think I’m crazy for trying to stop your wife from eating, then have a taste.”
“Well, I…” He glanced at the plate, then his wife. “Guess I shouldn’t take that chance, huh?”
“But you told me…” Angela McManus took a step back and wiped her hands over her water stained skirt. “You wanted me to eat. You said, hurry and eat.”
“Because you missed lunch.”
“And you told me he…” She pointed at Ben. “He was in custody.”
“I thought he was… I… I…”
“He’s telling the truth, isn’t he?” She almost sobbed the last word. “This is how you plan to carry on your little affair, isn’t it? Without me? And get pity votes for the dead wife in the meantime.”
A gasp ripped through the crowd and a few TV cameramen stepped forward, recording every word. The governor turned pale and stepped back, holding his hands up.
“I can explain this,” he said. “I can—”
All three entrance doors slammed open at once, filled with the silhouettes of large security professionals. Real security professionals.
Bullet Catchers.
Recognizing them, Ben waved the men closer and then turned to find Callie.
“The cavalry’s….” His voice faded away when he didn’t see her. He pivoted, scanning, but she was gone.
And his gut told him exactly where she was.
~*~
Callie caught a glimpse of blond hair tearing out the back door of the retirement home kitchens. She scrambled past shocked cooks and servers, knocking a few back as she raced to catch up with the chef.
She was not going to escape.
One of Callie’s heels slid on wet tile and she shrieked softly as she grabbed a stainless steel counter for momentary support and then sailed toward the door. She shoved it open, facing a deserted back lot.
Completely deserted.
How could the chef have gotten away so fast?
“I’m going to find you, damn it!” The curse felt good on her lips and justified.
Callie jogged to the right, squinting into the sunshine, looking at the spaces between cars, listening for the sound of running footsteps.
Then she heard it. The soft breathing of something… someone… in the Dumpster against the back wall.
She kicked off her heels and grabbed a hold of the top of the giant garbage container, her skirt tearing as sh
e swung her legs up to leverage her body so she could look in. Before she got her balance, the chef popped out of the trash and yanked Callie in.
She hit the stinky mess with full force, just as the chef landed a blow on her already bruised head. Fury shot through Callie, fueling her fight and forcing her to a stand in the midst of garbage.
Monica lunged again, an evil growling sound accompanying the move, but Callie dodged the punch and swung around, throwing the other woman down. They rolled, the stench of rotten food and filthy garbage as stomach-wrenching as the fight. Monica got a hold of Callie’s hair, pulling her head all the way back.
“You should be dead, you little bitch.” Monica growled the words, yanking viciously, her mouth hanging open as Callie tried to kick and swing.
Callie stared at the woman’s shiny teeth, her open mouth, her pink tongue… and had an idea. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, she closed her fingers over the rose bloom she’d taken from the hotel.
Lifting her hand, she stuffed the flower into Monica’s mouth.
The other woman shrieked, spit and freaked out, letting go of Callie’s hair to swipe the remnants of rose out of her mouth.
“Callie!” Ben’s voice echoed over the parking lot.
“With the trash,” she called back. “Literally.”
Both women looked up to meet the barrel of a gun, and the handsome face of the man who held it.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked Callie, reaching for her with his other hand.
“I didn’t want her to get away.” She lifted herself up, hearing Granny Belle’s skirt rip some more, giving a hard look to a destroyed chef. “Bitch owes me three grand.”
Ben started laughing as he helped her out, and suddenly, the parking lot was loaded with a bunch of big men with big guns. Each one was hotter, meaner, and tougher than the next.
“You know, I might like a job with these guys.”
He just planted a kiss on her head. “You’d fit right in.”
“Damn right I would.”
“Aw, hell, Callie. I corrupted you.”
“Not totally.” She gave him a warm, sexy smile. “Not yet.”
~*~
A lilting baby giggle floated down the massive staircase that Callie climbed on her way to meet Lucy Sharpe.
“Sounds like little Gracie is up from her nap.” Avery Cole, the raven-haired beauty who’d greeted them in the Tudor mansion’s circular drive, paused at the top step, turning to give a smile. “Hope you don’t mind an extra in your meeting.”
“Are you kidding?” Ben asked. “The kid puts her in a good mood.”
Avery laughed. “You can say that again. And Jack’s up there, so she’s doubly happy.”
“Who’s Jack?” Callie asked, unable to squash the few butterflies that had been fluttering ever since they’d left New York City to make the drive to the Bullet Catchers’ headquarters. Over the past few days—and gloriously sexy nights—spent with Ben, she’d heard enough about the legendary Lucy Sharpe to be more than a little intimidated.
“Her husband, Jack Culver,” Ben said. “The only Bullet Catcher she can’t control.”
Avery stepped aside to motion them toward a set of carved mahogany doors as oversized as everything else in the house, her sable-brown eyes twinkling with humor. “She does a fine job of trying, though. Go on in; they’re ready.”
Immediately, the door was opened by a tall, rugged-looking man with a day’s worth of whiskers and an arm full of a not-quite-two-year-old.
“Hello.” He held out a hand to greet Callie, nodding to Ben. “Youngblood, good to see you back.”
“Is it?” Ben asked. “Or has your better half been honing the guillotine blades?”
“After your performance in Florida, your neck is safe,” the man said, giving Callie a slow, wicked smile that perfectly complimented the hint of New York City in his raspy voice. “I understand congratulations are in order for you, Ms. Parrish. Not only has the governor been charged with attempted murder and removed from office, his replacement has hired the Bullet Catchers for security. My wife is pleased.” He leaned a little closer, bringing the baby with him to playfully whisper in her ear. “When Momma’s pleased, everybody’s pleased, right G-girl?”
The child giggled and slapped pudgy hands on her daddy’s face, her expression raw adoration.
“I heard that.” A woman stepped into view, crossing the massive library with one arm outstretched. A curtain of coal-black hair fell over her shoulders, a sharp contrast with the white silk jacket that hugged a long, lean figure. “I’m Lucy Sharpe.” She greeted Callie and raised a manila folder with her other hand. “I believe this is the information you’re looking for.”
The butterflies settled instantly, replaced by the tendrils of hope that had been wrapping around Callie’s heart for days. Ever since Ben first told her that his boss’s deep connections to the CIA could actually unearth information she thought would stay buried forever, Callie had dared to hope.
“You found him?” Her voice almost cracked with disbelief. “With nothing more than the name Jeremiah?”
“Easily,” Lucy said, gesturing for Callie to join her in a sitting area. “Quite honestly, you probably could have found him yourself with about an hour of internet searching.”
“Really?” If only Granny Belle had known that. If she hadn’t kept her dark secret until her last day on earth, maybe Callie could have done that research and sent her great-grandmother to Heaven with the real identity of a man she said she’d loved at first sight. But Granny Belle had been shamed by a one-night stand and had managed to live the lie her whole adult life.
Callie blinked in surprise at the two-inch thick file. “You got that much information from an internet search?”
“Oh, no. I pulled some strings in Washington. This file contains photos, medical history, and even a copy of his will. There’s also a letter in here that I think will interest you, found in his personal effects after he passed away in 1972.”
Somehow, Callie managed to sit, her whole body liquefied at the words. He’d passed. She had his history, his picture. “A… letter?”
“Apparently, he tried to find your great-grandmother, but never could. He was told she’d died in a fire after she’d moved to America.”
That actually made sense. “When she was first married and living in Georgia, her farm burned to the ground.” And with it, Granny Belle had said, all of her personal records, which gave her a chance to hide the truth about her first-born son. “She and the man she’d married and her young son had moved to Florida as a family after that.”
So, it really wasn’t a surprise that back in the fifties even a spy like Jeremiah couldn’t find a woman he’d spent one night with in Paris.
An ache squeezed her chest. What if…
It didn’t matter anymore. Perhaps the star-crossed lovers had met again on a bridge in Heaven.
“All my great-grandmother knew was that he went by the name of Jeremiah,” Callie said. “And the night they were together, he admitted he worked for the government. She couldn’t ever find him, either, after they parted. She moved to the States to have her baby in secret and fell in love with a man willing to pretend her child was his.”
Lucy nodded her understanding. “Jeremiah was ordered out of Paris the day after the D-Day invasion, when he went into hiding,” she said. “He told your great-grandmother the truth because he believed he would die, but he didn’t. In fact, he went on to do great things to help the Allies win the war.”
Slowly, Callie opened the cover of the file, her gaze falling on a yellowed Polaroid photo of an older man in a loose-fitting suit, a smile crinkling his eyes, white hair still thick.
“His real name was Jacob Haines,” Lucy said. “He was an American agent who worked for Winston Churchill’s Special Operations Executive, known as the SOE, in Nazi-occupied France. For months before the D-Day invasion, he risked his life daily working undercover as a florist on the streets of Paris
.”
“A florist?” Callie looked up from the picture, a laugh bubbling up. “Really?”
“That’s irony for you,” Ben said, moving closer to look at the picture and put a strong, supportive arm around her. “Heroics and flowers are in your blood.”
“He distributed top-secret information to the network of SIS spies, his messages tucked away in bouquets of flowers,” Lucy continued. “A fascinating technique that’s all in the file.”
“Oh…” Callie squeezed the folder, not at all surprised her vision blurred with tears. “This is such a gift to me.”
“There’s more,” Lucy added. “He never married nor had children—”
“That he knew of,” Callie interjected. Because he had a child and that child had five more and one of those children had… Callie.
“Which is why I was able to get this for you.” Lucy reached to the table between them and lifted a square leather box trimmed in gold. “After the war ended, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for extraordinary heroism in connection with military operations against the enemy.”
Tears stung Callie’s eyes as Lucy slowly open the box to present a gold cross with an eagle overlaid, a red and blue ribbon hanging from it.
“By all rights,” Lucy said, “you earned this, Ms. Parrish.”
“She certainly did,” Ben agreed, tightening his grip.
“And you, Mr. Youngblood”—Lucy leaned back in the chair, leveling a dark look of warning at Ben—“have earned another chance.”
He grinned and then laughed. “Like there was ever any doubt.”
“There’s always doubt.” Lucy stood, sweeping her hands over her silky trousers. “Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’m spending the rest of the day with my daughter and husband. Have a lovely trip.”
Callie blinked. “Trip… home?”
Lucy gestured toward the window where a private plane sat on a runway in the distance. “Where ever that can take you, home and then…” She just smiled. “I know Paris is lovely this time of year.”
Paris. Paris. Callie didn’t bother to wipe the tear that fell and landed on the medal. “Thank you, Ms. Sharpe.”
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