Secret Agent Heiress

by Julie Miller

  “I’m fine. I even kicked a little terrorist butt along the way.”

  He grinned indulgently, shaking his head. “I remember when you used to hold your own against us, too.” The youngest of her four older brothers, Brian had been her confidant and best friend growing up. “They ought to know better than to mess with Whitney MacNair, right?”

  “Right.”

  A tower of black shifted into her peripheral vision, putting an abrupt end to their trip down memory lane. Whitney took a step back. “This is Vincent Romeo. He’s the man who rescued me from Chilton. My brother, Brian MacNair.”

  Brian extended his hand. “We owe you and the NSA a debt of gratitude.”

  The two men shook hands, an odd meeting of East Coast refinement and Chicago street smarts.

  There was no “You’re welcome” from Vincent, no “Just doin’ my job.” Instead, he asked, “Where’s Mr. MacNair?”

  The stone-faced lawyer that her childhood cohort had become slipped into place. “Detained in Washington.”

  Whitney’s mood crashed and burned.

  Her parents weren’t coming. Brian was just the messenger—sent to get a visual confirmation that their troublesome daughter had returned to her hiding place without turning it into a media event. He probably didn’t even have a suitcase or any intention of staying over.

  The rush of disappointment was bitter as always. But since leaving Washington, she’d gotten enough practice putting on a brave face that she could actually summon a smile. “They’re probably up to their ears with Gerry’s campaign right now.” She tried to explain their absence to Vincent—and rationalize it to herself.

  She felt the barest brush of callused fingertips at the small of her back. Should she imagine Vincent’s touch was a gesture of comfort? Or an eagerness to hand her over and be rid of her?

  “My orders are to deliver her to her father and no one else.”

  “Correct.” Brian turned to Whitney and offered a helpless shrug. At least the fink had the good grace to look apologetic. “We need you to lie low a while longer, kiddo. Dad’s pulling in all his favors to find out who leaked the information about where you’ve been living these past few months. Until we uncover the mole, the NSA has agreed to provide round-the-clock protection for you.”

  He traded an all-business, man-to-man look with Vincent and pulled a sealed envelope from inside his jacket. “Since we don’t know exactly who’s involved yet, you’re to provide that protection.”

  He handed the envelope to Vincent and she saw all thoughts of freedom and going after Ross Weston being handed over with it.

  “Oh, no, no, no, no, no.” Whitney backed up a step. Her gaze darted back and forth between the two men. One dark, one fair. Neither one willing to budge an inch. She pointed a menacing finger at Brian. She couldn’t find the perfect word. She swung the finger at Vincent. Damn. She’d suddenly picked up his closemouthed curse.

  Frustrated, but without the words to scream, she clenched her hand into a fist and clutched it to her chest. Her protest finally rose on a painful moan from deep inside her and bit through the shrill articulation of anger.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. Not with Weston. Not with Chilton. Not with anyone.”

  “We’re just trying to protect you.” She jerked her shoulder away from Brian’s placating hand.

  “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  She spun her boot in the dirt and stamped into the barn to unsaddle Dragonheart and try to make sense of a world where her fate always seemed to be controlled by someone else. Controlled by a man with power over her. Familial power. Physical power. Or, in Vincent’s case, the power to wake her body and touch her wounded soul.

  Just once. Just one time, she wanted to be the one in control.

  But with the ominous specter of Vincent Romeo watching her every move, it wouldn’t be anytime soon.

  Chapter Eight

  “Montana’s a huge place, Brian. You didn’t even get to see all the ranch.”

  With her temper simmering on a back burner, and her hurt tucked away in its usual corner of her heart, Whitney had found the strength to play the grateful little sister for the few hours her brother had been able to stay.

  While Frank Connolly ran the helicopter through its pre-flight check, she and Brian sat in the front of her red Explorer and talked all around the edict that lay between them. “I’ll come back when I have more time,” he said.

  “After that first Tuesday in November?”

  Brian laughed. But Whitney wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. She’d grown up in the world of politics. She’d once wanted to spend her life being a part of it. But now she wasn’t so sure.

  With the same accuracy he had shown when they were kids, he picked up on her mood. “I know this is hard on you. But we can’t afford any setbacks. The attorney general’s race is close. Gerry has a lead, but it’s a small one.”

  “Don’t worry. I already sent in my absentee ballot.”

  “Your sarcasm hurts, Whit. We’re trying to do what’s best for the family. The whole family—you included.” He reached for her hand on the console between them. She clung to the bit of tangible family support she had left. “Did you honestly appreciate the press hounding your every move? Your life wasn’t your own those first few days after the pictures hit the wire. Remember that photographer who cornered you on the train to Boston? How they camped out at our house in Martha’s Vineyard? There were so many on the island ferry that some of the commuters couldn’t get home.”

  “That was pretty lousy,” she agreed. She’d just wanted to go home. Hide in her old room. Talk it out with her mom or Brian. But she never got the chance. With her oldest brother’s campaign on the line, she garnered the wrong kind of press coverage. So her father called a friend at the Department of Public Safety in Washington, and arranged for her to “disappear” in the wide-open spaces of Montana.

  Her father had always been able to get the job done right.

  Brian’s regret-filled sigh hung in the air. “Life on the frontier here may be slow—but it’s safe.” She rolled her eyes and the name Dimitri Chilton passed between them. “Sorry. It’s safer than it is back East. You’re out of the limelight here. And Agent Romeo has been assigned to guard you twenty-four hours a day. Think of him as your own Secret Service man.”

  Whitney glanced out the window, and saw Vincent standing at the helicopter, chatting with Frank in the cockpit. That explained why he’d hovered around her all through dinner and a quick tour of the ranch with Daniel. Why he’d followed her into the barn to check on Jewel and Silver.

  She thought maybe the big guy cared on some level, that his constant surveillance stemmed from feelings more intimate than duty. At least she had hoped that was the explanation for her constant shadow. He’d seemed so hurt when she accused him of caring more about his job than people. She wanted to believe that he just couldn’t find the words to express his feelings, even if all he admitted to was a healthy bit of male-animal lust.

  Whitney rallied a smile to mask her disappointment. “Great. I always wanted my own Secret Service man.”

  The helicopter motor began to purr, then it picked up speed and turned into a howl. When the blades beat the air in a full-blown roar, Brian leaned over and kissed her forehead. “We’ll find out who leaked your name to the Black Order. I promise.”

  Not ready for goodbyes and dismissal just yet, Whitney grabbed his arm and slid out the passenger door after him. She raised her voice to be heard over the chopper. “I kissed him on the cheek. I thanked him for a gift that I earned with my hard work, just like I would Dad or any of my brothers.”

  Brian frowned. He hugged her close and spoke into her ear. “But Ross Weston isn’t Dad or one of us.”

  She’d found that out all too clearly. And way too late to do herself any good. “It was a setup, Brian. He doesn’t deserve to be president.”

  He pulled back, latching onto her shoulders and looking down at her with a protective
expression reserved only for big brothers defending their little sisters. “You’re preaching to the choir, kiddo. We’ll get him.”

  Her hair whipped into her eyes. She pulled it back and held it at her nape, squinting through the mini-tornado of dust and debris stirred up by the whirring helicopter blades. “Before the election?”

  “Just sit tight. We’re working on it.”

  Sit tight and wait for her father and big brothers to take care of her—just as they had her entire life. She loved them for their devotion, but one day they’d have to let her grow up and face the world with its joys and hazards all on her own.

  Maybe one day sooner than they expected.

  Feeling a sense of finality, a metamorphosis about to happen inside her, Whitney went up on her toes and hugged Brian around the neck. “Tell Mom and Dad I love them. And I miss them.”

  “Love ya, kiddo.”

  Whitney pulled away and nodded. They blew kisses once he was buckled inside the chopper. When the helicopter left the ground, she waved and waved until she had to shut her eyes and shield her face from the dust storm. When she could look to see him one more time, they’d already disappeared into the nighttime sky.

  “You’re disappointed in your family?” Vincent’s soft-voiced rasp from the shadows behind her didn’t startle her. She was getting used to having him around, even if it was only because he had to be.

  She turned, crossing her arms over her stomach, warding off the feeling of abandonment as much as the late-October chill. “It’s a fair trade. They’re disappointed in me.”

  “I don’t think so.” Vincent emerged from the night and strolled up to her. When he reached out, she flinched, unsure that she could resist another spell of his earthy tenderness. His hand hovered in the air until she realized he had something less personal in mind. He pulled a leaf from her hair and cast it aside before burying his hands in the zippered pockets of his leather jacket. “I think they’re just afraid.”

  “They’re always worried about me getting into trouble.”

  “They’re afraid you’ll get hurt.”

  So what was his excuse for treating her like a recalcitrant child? She thrust her hands into the pockets of her pink suede jacket, mimicking his too-tough-to-care stance. “So. You’re stuck baby-sitting me a while longer.” She ignored the suspicious narrowing of his eyes and took a step toward him, then past him. She twirled around and backed down the hill, leaving the helipad, her Explorer and Vincent behind her. “Well, guess what? I feel like walking up to the house. So you’ll have to walk with me. I’ll ride down with Frank or Daniel and get my car in the morning.”

  She offered him a saccharine smile and a taunting glare. “If you’ll let me.”

  She spun around and headed down the gravel road at a brisk pace.

  “Your brother and I are not the bad guys here.” She heard him fall into step behind her.

  “Depends on your perspective, I guess.”

  “MacNair, you’re being childish about this.”

  “Because I’m being treated like a child.” She planted herself in the middle of the road and shook her fists. Twenty-six years of frustrated freedom shuddered through her body. “You’re the biggest, broodiest baby-sitter I’ve ever had, but you’re still my baby-sitter. Dad only hires the best.”

  His long stride took him past her without stopping. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The gall. Of all the self-righteous, egotistical… Whitney ran to catch him as he turned the corner and followed the road up to the ranch house. “I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Vincent took one step for every two of hers. And just like their climb across Beartooth Mountain, she refused to lag behind. “Our time is running out. In a matter of days, Weston may become President of the United States. If he’s in league with terrorists, we can’t allow that to happen. If he’s responsible for anything that happened to Frank or Court or Kyle, I want him to pay. If he’s a threat to you and me and everyone in this country, I have to stop him. More than anyone else, I have the means to do it. You know it. Daniel knows it. If Weston’s innocent, he needs our help. If he’s not, we have to stop him.”

  He halted at the base of the back steps, not even breaking a sweat from the quick, hard hike. “And if you die trying, what does that prove?”

  Whitney paused on the step above him, flushed from anger and exertion. “That I tried.”

  Damn him and his patronizing, all-knowing taunts. Her father was investigating a Washington connection to the Black Order. And with the recent bustle of agents in the war room, she had no doubt that Daniel and Montana Confidential were looking into Weston’s innocence or guilt.

  Why couldn’t she contribute something, too?

  Damn Vincent for not understanding. Damn everyone for not understanding.

  She marched on up the steps and into the house. Daniel would be lodged in his office or the war room at this hour, and the McMurtys were out in the barn with Jewel. So Whitney stomped up the stairs to her room, intending to punctuate her dramatic exit with a solid slam of her bedroom door.

  Behind her, she heard an unexpected thump instead of a satisfying click. She turned and saw the toe of a black boot blocking the doorway. Whitney threw herself against the door and pushed, but it was no use. Vincent was there, an immovable force as always.

  She let the door fly open and shoved at his chest. “Get out.”

  But with humiliating ease, he seized her by the shoulders and half lifted, half pushed her inside the room. He set her down and closed the door behind him, turning the lock with an ominous click.

  “I’m not letting you out of here.”

  “Let—” Her hands settled defiantly on her hips. “Letting me?” She stormed across the room, putting the four-poster bed and a gulf of misspent feelings between them. She pulled off her jacket and threw it onto the bed, throwing down a gauntlet of challenge. “Who’s the kidnapper now?”

  “Dammit, Whitney—” Saying her full name was shock enough. But to see him throwing up his hands in surrender startled her into silence. Subdued, but wary, she flipped on the lamp beside the bed. The light illuminated him up to his waist, leaving his face in shadow. But his black eyes gleamed with a light of their own. “Try to see this from someone else’s point of view.”

  “Whose?”

  “Mine.” She waited for the lecture about knowing her place and being smart enough to stay there. “I care. I care about—”

  His words died. Not much of an argument. But enough to intrigue her. “About what?”

  The silhouette of broad shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. He unzipped his jacket and stepped into the light. But with black hair, unreadable eyes and that black stubble shading his jaw, he was still a dark outline against the creamy-white door. A mystery she couldn’t define.

  “You want to see my orders?” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the white envelope Brian had given him at his arrival.

  “I can’t do that. They’re top secret.”

  “Look at them.” He tossed the envelope onto the bed. She hesitated a moment, expecting some kind of trap. The kind where she dived in, headfirst, without thinking, and got herself into trouble. So she thought about it. Then curiosity won out over caution and she picked them up. At least now she understood the breach in protocol. The orders with the presidential logo were still sealed.

  But Brian said he’d been assigned to her.

  Whitney clutched the envelope in her hand and searched for an explanation. “I don’t get it. If guarding me isn’t your job, then what are you still doing here?”

  Vincent saw the speculation crease her forehead into a frown, and knew he had her complete attention. He wasn’t here because of some authoritative order. He was here because of her. He needed to be here. He needed to know she was safe. He needed to know she wouldn’t put her life on the line for family or country or any other thing he could take care of for her.

  And he needed her t
o understand that.

  While he struggled for words to explain the unique bond he thought they shared, she moved to the corner of the bed and hugged the bedpost, waiting for him to go on. For a fiery-tempered redhead, she could be incredibly patient.

  “I’m not leaving.” He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair to emphasize his point. Whitney hugged the bed a little tighter. Maybe it was the holster and gun hanging off his left shoulder. Maybe it was the uninvited man in her room that made her uncomfortable.

  “You can’t change my mind.” He nodded. She’d certainly made it a challenging task. Logic hadn’t worked to talk her out of this crazy idea about going after Weston. Sweet talk, such as he could manage, hadn’t worked. He even doubted the locked door on her room would stop her.

  That left convincing her her own way. He had to talk.

  “I want to show you something.” He reached inside his front right pocket and pulled out a worn brown leather wallet. He cradled it in his hand and traced the circle that had imprinted itself into the cover over the years. A calming sense of power radiated from the leather into his veins. He had to do this. He couldn’t think of any other way to reach her.

  He opened it slowly, taking care not to damage the fraying hinge. He pressed his thumb to the name engraved on the silvery shield inside. Romeo. “It’s my father’s badge.”

  “You carry it with you?”

  “Whenever I can.” On certain missions he left it in a safe-deposit box to keep from damaging or losing it. Otherwise, it was as much a part of him as his gun or his own badge.

  Whitney inched her way closer, thoughts of independence and protest pushed aside for the moment as curiosity took over. “May I see it?”

  His father had been a powerful influence on his life. When he put the badge into her hand, he prayed that his father was with him now. He needed some sort of inspiration to guide him through this.

  “I’m trying to tell you about my dad. How it felt to lose him.” He wrapped his hand around the opposite bedpost, self-conscious to see it gesturing in the air. “I don’t want to feel like that ever again. It hurt so bad.” He spread his hand flat against the front of his shirt. “The weight on my chest. I had headaches all the time. The counselor said I just needed to have a good cry. But I couldn’t, you know. My brothers and sisters needed me. Mom needed me. I had to be there for them. I had to be the man.”