He’d told the men to go have fun. It was his responsibility. Technically, he could pass the punishment on down, but next in line was Lieutenant Grayson, currently missing most of his right leg and facing a long road to recovery.
No. This time the chain of command stopped here. With Joe.
Phillips flipped open a file. “You’ve been with the SEALs nearly ten years, Joe. You’re a fine officer and one of the best men I’ve ever worked with. The admiral wants you punished, and I want to save your career if I can.”
“Thank you, sir,” Joe said, feeling the first hint of relief.
The captain smiled. “You might want to hold off on your thanks. The best way I know to punish you is to temporarily reassign you to a special project that has nothing to do with the SEALs. The best way I know to save your ass is to get you the hell out of here for a few weeks and let the admiral cool down. As an interesting point of fact, my brother-in-law is fairly high up the chain of command in the Secret Service. I don’t think you knew that.”
“No, sir,” Joe said, not sure what the information had to do with anything.
“You’ve mentioned you have family here in California,” Phillips said. “The Marcellis. They own a winery just north of Santa Barbara?”
“Yes, sir.” Joe had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t like it. Technically he was related to the Marcelli clan, but they weren’t his family.
“What you don’t know,” the captain said, “is that the president’s daughter was kidnapped yesterday.”
Joe stiffened as he pictured the attractive, curvy blonde who frequently served as the president’s hostess. “Lauren?”
“No. The other one. Darcy. Apparently they grabbed her by mistake—Lauren was their actual target.”
“How could they screw that up?” Joe asked. Darcy was nothing like her sister in looks or temperament.
“No one knows. The point is, both women are being taken out of Washington and sent to different locations. Safe houses, if you will. They’ll have their usual Secret Service protection, but until the kidnappers are caught, they need to lay low. This is all confidential, Joe. You aren’t to discuss this information with anyone.”
“Of course not, sir.” Joe had no problem keeping quiet. What he didn’t understand was what any of it had to do with him.
Captain Phillips leaned forward. “There is some concern about Darcy. She’s not generally cooperative, and frankly no one wants to be locked up in a safe house with her. The thought is if she can be kept safe but still have a semblance of a life, it will be easier for all concerned. Basically a place that is isolated but not solitary. I thought of what you’ve told me about your family’s winery. There’s a large house, plenty of room for the team and Darcy. I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince you to take this assignment. After last night, I don’t have to.”
Joe put the rest of the pieces together and didn’t like the finished picture. That was to be his punishment. To babysit the president’s daughter and spend time with the Marcellis.
“I have a SEAL team heading out in two months,” he said. “There’s important work to be done.”
“Someone else can take care of that, Joe. Right now the president’s daughter is your responsibility.”
“Sir, sending her to the hacienda is an interesting solution,” he said, “but the winery is not easily guarded. There are hundreds of acres, employees, staff. Plus my relatives would have to be cleared for security purposes.”
“Already done. You’re right about the winery being an open space, but who would think to look for her there? The navy is cooperating with the president at his request,” Phillips told him. “Unless you want to call the president and explain why you’re unwilling to protect his daughter?”
Joe felt the doors of the prison swing closed. “What is my assignment, sir?”
“Coordinate with the Secret Service. Their job is to protect Darcy, but you are to facilitate what they need. Be another pair of eyes. Use your tactical skills to their advantage. When the kidnappers are caught, you’ll return here and we’ll see if the admiral has cooled off enough for you to resume your duties. In the meantime, do what you can to keep Darcy Jensen happy.”
Joe rose and saluted. “Yes, sir,” he said and left.
He was completely and totally screwed, sent away in disgrace, his career in jeopardy. He would be lucky to come back as an ensign.
As for keeping Darcy Jensen happy—from what he’d heard, that was a task even a SEAL couldn’t pull off.
2
Darcy heard the murmurings of her temporary Secret Service team before she heard the knock on the door. The whispered “Swan is here” warned her of her sister’s approach.
She stayed in her apartment bedroom, one of the guys in suits would get the door, and continued her packing. In less than four hours she would be whisked away to an undisclosed location for however long it took to find the crazies after her sister. Based on the Secret Service’s current level of competency, she could be gone for months.
Not knowing where she was headed made packing a problem. All she knew was she was staying in the continental United States and that she was expected to stay very low-key when she arrived.
News flash—she didn’t want to walk around flaunting herself. One kidnapping in a lifetime was more than enough.
She grabbed a handful of shorts, some T-shirts and jeans, and tossed them on the bed.
The bedroom door opened and Lauren entered. The two Secret Service agents with her hovered in the hall then nodded at the single agent standing in the corner of Darcy’s bedroom.
Lauren crossed to Darcy, grabbed her upper arms, and stared into her eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asked, sounding near tears. “Did they hurt you?”
Darcy had a few bruises from her ride in the back of the van, some sore muscles, and several raw spots around her wrists from the ropes. She hadn’t slept at all the previous night and couldn’t imagine ever not feeling afraid again. But the agent in the room kept her from saying all that.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Lauren didn’t release her. “Are you sure? I was so worried.”
A change, Darcy thought. In the past year,she’d been the one worried about Lauren.
“If anything had happened to you…,” Lauren said, those threatening tears finally making an appearance. “I couldn’t stand to lose one more person I love.”
Darcy appreciated the sentiment, knew it was true, and told herself neither of them had time for a breakdown. Lauren had finally surfaced from the emotional devastation of the shocking death of her young husband, and Darcy refused to let her sink back into despair over a botched kidnapping. Darcy might be hearing things go bump in the night, but she refused to let her sister be afraid.
She drew in a deep breath as she took in Lauren’s outfit. The aqua and pink sundress just grazed generous curves in unwrinkled perfection. Delicate pearls graced her sister’s tiny ears. Her sling backs matched her purse, and a narrow woven silver and pearl bracelet completed the ensemble. She wore her long, wavy blond hair pulled back in an elegant clasp. She would fit in equally well having lunch at the club or hosting an afternoon charity event.
“Why do you always have to dress like an Easter egg?” Darcy asked. “Do you own anything in a primary color? I know you could never wear black. How scandalous. The heavens would open and weep.”
Lauren’s intense gaze never wavered. “At least I don’t dress like a former rock groupie in mourning. Does every single outfit have to be tone-on-tone black? It’s summer, for heaven’s sake. Lighten up and wear a color.”
Darcy felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. Lauren began to giggle. Laughter escaped, and then they were hugging each other tight. Darcy hung on tighter than usual.
“When they told me what happened, I nearly died,” Lauren whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry. I wish it had been me.”
Darcy straightened. “No, you don’t. Trust me on that.�
�
“But they wanted me instead of you.”
“Don’t they all. That’s the world in which we live. I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Darcy, don’t.” Lauren sighed. “I feel horrible.”
“Don’t. Do you know where they’re taking you?” she asked.
“No. You?”
“I want to be safe. Something I’m not sure the moron brigade can do.”
Lauren shot the agent in the room an apologetic glance then turned on her sister. “Darcy, no. You can’t be mad at your team.”
“Why not? If they’d been doing their job, I wouldn’t have been taken.” From the corner of her eye she saw the agent flinch. Well, too bad. If they’d been doing their job, she would never have realized that she was at risk.
She’d had Secret Service protection for years and had never considered it more than an annoyance. She’d always known that she and Lauren were technically possible targets, but she’d felt safe surrounded by the grim-faced agents. Not anymore.
“It’s not completely their fault,” Lauren said. “No one was expecting you to be kidnapped.”
Darcy snorted. “It’s their job to expect the unexpected. They’re professionals.”
“I know, but they didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to you.”
“Oh. They didn’t mean it. Then that makes it all right.”
Lauren might technically be the firstborn, but she had the personality of a middle child—always seeing the other person’s side of things. It was a trait Darcy found annoying on occasion, even as she admired it.
“Darcy…,” her sister began.
Darcy waved her off. “Don’t sweat it. They’ll be on their toes now. That’s what matters. So we’ll head off to our separate but equal locations and wait for the crazies to be caught.”
And then what? She’d tried to live a normal life, but it was impossible while her father was in office.
“There was so much to cancel,” Lauren said. “I had two benefits, and I was going to be at a state dinner.” She frowned. “Weren’t you flying to New York?”
“Yeah.” Darcy didn’t want to think about that either.
Lauren groaned. “Your interview. When is it?”
“Monday.”
Being the president’s daughter put her in the unique position of being unemployable in her chosen field. She was a graphic artist with a master’s in marketing. But, as the dozens of companies she’d applied to over the past couple of years had told her, no client wanted to turn down a presentation by someone so close to the president. It could be very bad for business. Rather than put their clients in such an awkward position, she’d been passed over time and again.
A small firm in New York had been willing to take a chance on her. Now she was unlikely to make her second interview, and telling them why wasn’t going to make them want to hire her.
“Maybe if you explained,” Lauren said, looking so earnest Darcy actually laughed.
“What? That I was recently kidnapped and have to lay low until the culprits are found? I don’t think that will win me employee of the month.”
Lauren sighed. “I know this life is hard for you.”
“And I know you love it,” Darcy said without rancor. It was true—public life suited her sister. Lauren was never happier than when she was cutting a ribbon at some hospital wing opening, or serving as their father’s hostess for a formal dinner for three hundred. Darcy would rather be staked naked in the desert on top of a nest of fire ants.
“I’ll be fine,” she said before tender-hearted Lauren started to cry again. “Don’t worry about it. Have you met your new security team?” she asked, to change the subject to something more neutral.
“No. Have you?”
“Just one of them. Alex Vanmeter. He’s downstairs. He looks competent, but I’ll be grilling him later to make sure he knows what he’s doing.”
Lauren stared at her. “The incredibly hunky guy who looks like a street fighter? I’m sure he’ll keep you safe.”
“I wish I was sure.” Darcy shook her head. “You know, I’m actually not interested in his looks right now. He could be a troll, as long as he’s a troll who knows what he’s doing.”
She crossed to her dresser and pulled out bras and panties, then tucked them into the suitcase. She’d already packed up her art supplies and her laptop.
Lauren walked to the window and stared down at the Secret Service team below. “What happened to the two guys assigned to you?” she asked.
“I don’t have a clue.” Darcy didn’t think they were in a good place for having lost her. “Don’t worry. I doubt they were taken out back and shot.” Although in her mind, they more than deserved a good beating. Or maybe a kidnapping. Let them feel what she’d experienced. Toss them in the back of a filthy van driven by demon-headed guys named Bill and force them to open a purse with their teeth.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Lauren said. “I feel bad for them. And you, of course.”
“Of course. Doesn’t seeing both sides ever make you tired?”
Lauren rolled her eyes. “Desperately. I mostly do it to make you crazy.”
Darcy grinned. “You usually succeed.”
“I’m glad.” Lauren turned serious. “You’ll be all right, won’t you?”
Darcy figured that in time she would be able to sleep and the flashes of terror would recede. Until then, she would simply fake her way through it. That had always worked for her before. “I promise.”
“I guess we’ll be able to talk by phone on secure lines. I want to hear about everything.”
“Me, too.”
Lauren moved close, and they hugged again. “I love you,” her sister whispered.
“I love you, too. Be good.”
“That’s my line,” Lauren said as she stepped back and waved.
Darcy watched her go then turned back to her packing. For the moment, the fear was gone, but in its place was a dark and lonely space.
• • •
Joe arrived at the Marcelli winery shortly after four in the afternoon. He’d put off leaving as long as he could, which had meant all of the morning, but he’d known better than to linger much past noon. He might be entering hell on earth, but he was still a naval officer. His job was to follow orders.
As he turned onto the road that led to the three-story hacienda, he studied the pale yellow stucco structure as he might an enemy target, or a place he would have to defend.
Too many windows and exits, he thought grimly as he took in the French doors leading to balconies and the decorative wrought iron that would allow someone in reasonable shape to climb from flower beds to the tile roof. Trees that others would think provided comfortable shade in the August heat showed him places snipers could hide.
Beyond the house was a multicar garage that could conceal at least fifty armed men, and less than a quarter mile beyond that were the various buildings of the winery.
Perfect, he thought grimly as he pulled his truck up behind the house and turned off the engine. Maybe someone could call in one of those entertainment networks to announce Darcy Jensen’s location to add to the challenge.
The rear door of the house opened, and a man stepped onto the porch. Joe recognized Marco Marcelli, his biological father.
“Joe! You’re here.”
Marco hurried to the truck and met Joe as he closed the driver’s door behind him.
Marco studied him for a second before wrapping both arms around Joe in a welcoming hug. Joe accepted the embrace—to do otherwise would invite conversations he didn’t want to have, then when he was free, he stepped back and glanced around.
“A lot of grapes,” he said, motioning to the vines heavy with fruit.
“A good year,” Marco said. “Brenna and Grandpa Lorenzo are excited about the harvest. More wine means more excuses for Colleen and me to travel as we sell the wine. I’m not complaining.”
Joe nodded, as if the information had meaning. The Marcellis were w
ine. Marco’s children were the fourth generation to grow grapes on this stretch of land. He and his wife, Colleen, were responsible for sales.
Marco patted the side of the truck. “You usually travel light.”
“I don’t know how long I’m going to be here,” Joe said, wishing that wasn’t the case. “I couldn’t fit everything on my motorcycle, so I rented the truck.”
“They haven’t told us much,” Marco told him. “But several people from the government have been all over the property and have spoken with everyone in the family. They picked you to help.”
Joe heard the pride in Marco’s voice and thought about telling him that the only reason any of this was happening was because Joe’s men had screwed up.
“I thought I’d brief everyone at once,” Joe said. “I guess we should do that first, before I unpack.”
Marco patted his shoulder. “It’s good that you’re staying here for a while, Joe. We want…” The older man hesitated. “We’re helping because of you.”
Joe knew what he was trying to do—show that the family would be there for him. Marco, like every other Marcelli, had spent the past three years doing his best to convince Joe he was one of them.
Joe knew different. He might share bloodlines, but they had nothing else in common, and they would never be his family.
“Tessa made up your room,” Marco said.
“I appreciate that.” He looked at the man who thought of himself as Joe’s father. “You know this is temporary. I’m only staying until the job is done.”
Marco nodded. “Of course. You’re still a navy man.”
The back door opened again. A small, elderly woman with gray hair piled on her head walked onto the porch. “Joseph? Is that you? So that’s what they’re teaching officers these days? That it’s polite to keep an old woman waiting?”
Despite his dislike of the assignment and the pressure he felt being back at the winery, Joe couldn’t help smiling as he crossed to the house and climbed the three back stairs.
The Marcelli Bride Page 2
