Protective Measures

by Dana Marton

  “Kaye?”

  In the shaft of light the open door let in, he saw something move under the bed.

  He was on his knees and pulling her out the next second. “I’m here.”

  He lifted Kaye into his arms.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded weakly against his chest.

  “Hang on,” he said, and kicked open the cabin’s front door…made a beeline for the trees.

  “I can walk,” Kaye whispered.

  “Not fast enough.” Even his strength and speed could turn out to be insufficient. He was running through unfamiliar terrain, while his pursuers probably knew every tree. He slowed only when he caught a small groan from Kaye.

  The stain on her shirt was no longer brown; it was red now, soaked with fresh blood.

  “I wasn’t sure if you could come,” she said.

  “They would have to kill me to stop me.” Didn’t she know that?

  DANA MARTON

  PROTECTIVE MEASURES

  This book is dedicated with deep appreciation

  to my editor, Allison Lyons, and to my family

  for supporting me through the good times and the bad.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Author Dana Marton lives near Wilmington, Delaware. She has been an avid reader since childhood and has a master’s degree in writing popular fiction. When not writing, she can be found either in her garden or her home library. For more information on the author and her other novels, please visit her Web site at www.danamarton.com.

  She would love to hear from her readers via e-mail: DanaMarton@yahoo.com.

  Books by Dana Marton

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  806—SHADOW SOLDIER

  821—SECRET SOLDIER

  859—THE SHEIK’S SAFETY

  875—CAMOUFLAGE HEART

  902—ROGUE SOLDIER

  917—PROTECTIVE MEASURES

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Kaye Miller—Majority Whip of the House of Representatives who’s being targeted by faceless assassins. Instead of hiding in a safe house, she chooses to draw her enemies out. Could her decision cost her life?

  Daniel DuCharme—Member of the SDDU, a secret soldier who fights terrorism, he agrees to guard Kaye as a favor to his commander. But what will happen when he starts to fall for Kaye, his commander’s goddaughter?

  Colonel Wilson—Head of the SDDU, reporting straight to the Homeland Security Secretary, and Kaye’s godfather.

  Agent Harrison—A Secret Service agent on Kaye’s security detail.

  Congressman Roger Cole—An old friend who seems to have turned into an enemy. He votes against Kaye every chance he gets, trying to undermine her career. How far is he willing to go?

  Congressman Brown—He hated Kaye from the get-go. What does he have against her and is it enough to want her dead?

  SDDU—Special Designation Defense Unit. A top secret military team established to fight terrorism, its existence is known only by a select few. Members are recruited from the best of the best.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Kaye Miller looked at her friends and colleagues milling around the grand ballroom, and wondered which one had tried to kill her.

  Cold fear slithered up her limbs, along with a sense of bewilderment and betrayal. Who was it? And why? She’d only seen the shadow of the man’s head through the car window, that and the Capitol Hill parking pass that marked him as someone close to her.

  “Maybe next term,” she said in response to a question from Congresswoman Sawyer by her side and scanned the crowd, considering each man in turn.

  True, politics was a cutthroat business, but she couldn’t imagine any of these people as a coldhearted killer.

  “If the wording was toned down—” She turned her full attention to Sawyer and made an effort to redirect her thoughts. “It shouldn’t take much to get that little extra support you need.”

  “But I can count on your help?”

  “You have my full backing.” She was all for education reform.

  Sawyer thanked her and moved on, leaving her alone and at the mercy of darker thoughts that brought images of crushed metal and screeching tires.

  An accident, according to the police.

  She wanted to believe them. She couldn’t. She’d been there. The man had come after her with a purpose.

  Would he come back to try again?

  She absentmindedly rubbed the red plastic multiple sclerosis bracelet on her wrist, an accessory that almost every person wore tonight, including the men. Then she caught herself and dropped her hand. She didn’t want to look nervous. She widened her smile and tried to focus on enjoying the evening. She didn’t succeed. The lushly decorated room, the huge garlands of red roses and carnations, felt oppressive, as if the walls were closing in. And there were too many people. People she was no longer sure about.

  Nonsense.

  She was safe here, surrounded by at least two hundred politicians and media. Nobody would be stupid enough to try to get to her in this crowd.

  Still, when somebody bumped her from behind, she jumped.

  “Excuse me,” a petite woman in a striking maroon dress said with a smile, balancing her drink and dessert.

  Kaye stepped out of the way and let her by, tried to place her. She’d been skipping too many social events in the past two years. There had been a time when she would have known everyone at a gathering like this.

  Sinatra’s voice came faintly through the speakers, not meant for dancing, just loud enough to provide some pleasant background noise for the guests at the Multiple Sclerosis Society’s Award Gala—everyone who had supported the vote for the newly approved research funds for the society. Tonight The Hotel George was as well-guarded as the White House.

  And yet…she could not ignore the bristling of the short hairs at her nape, the distinct and disturbing sensation that she was being watched.

  Wasn’t she always? She was a public figure, Majority Whip in the House of Representatives. Thanks to C-SPAN and countless other news sources, people tended to recognize her. Even in this room where almost everybody knew her already, somebody might be keeping an eye on her, waiting for an opportune moment to come over and push his or her agenda.

  Staying busy was good. She turned to join the group of men she’d recently scrutinized. Then she saw him: Tall and dark-haired, he wore a black tuxedo like every other man in the place, and watched her from across the room. Her, not someone behind or next to her—she was certain of that. His sharp gaze held her in a way so that she could swear she felt his attention. She didn’t recognize him from the Hill, although he could have been one of the new aides.

  Instinct said he wasn’t. Not media either since he wasn’t wearing a media badge. In a room full of all-smiles politicians, he seemed to stand alone with his sober intensity.

  He didn’t look away when she caught him staring. Why was he watching her? What did he want? Was it him? The man in the tunnel? She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t seen enough.

  Who was he with? She thought she recognized the daughter of Senator Massey from Iowa, but the others she couldn’t place. The people in the small group around him were chatting, but he didn’t seem to be involved in the conversation. The older woman on his left put a hand on his arm and said something. He turned to her to respond.

  Nobody. He was nobody important. She let out her breath. A guest, that’s all. Maybe a young representative who
wanted to talk to her on some issue, but couldn’t quite work up the nerve to approach the Majority Whip at a party.

  And yet, he didn’t look like someone who could be easily rattled. She watched him as he bent his head to listen politely to whatever the woman was saying. There was a strength to him, evident even at this distance, in his posture and controlled movements—a lot like Cal’s.

  She found the strength of strangers threatening just now. Kaye kept moving.

  “Here you are.” Norman Barney’s weathered face lit up as he spotted her. “I was hoping we could discuss my little project. I want it in the hopper as soon as possible.”

  That’s what she needed, some normal everyday conversation instead of standing alone and steeping in paranoia. “Agricultural easements?”

  He nodded and steered her from the group.

  She smiled and stifled the little voice in her head that screamed “anything but that!”

  Norman Barney’s voter base included a large number of farmers and he took representing them seriously. Nothing wrong with that, except that the man had a rather dramatic manner when he took the floor. A recent five-hour discourse on the proper processing of tripe came to mind.

  “I’d like to hear your take on the upcoming presidential summit, too. It does affect my constituents. They depend on cheap labor from south of the border.”

  “We should be able to squeeze in a quick meeting next week,” she said pleasantly. She wouldn’t have minded a little work-related discussion, but she didn’t want to enter into an argument right here, right now, an outcome that their opposing position on the issue guaranteed.

  He waved that off. “Nothing that formal, Congresswoman. I was just hoping for a few minutes tonight. Just to sound you out.”

  “Kaye?”

  The familiar voice had the power to lift the dark cloud that had seemed to hang over her all evening.

  She turned with a smile. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  Cal was here. Nothing could happen to her now. Standing next to him was like standing in the shadow of a tank.

  “Thought I’d stop by to say hi to my favorite goddaughter. Congressman.” He nodded to Barney.

  The man just about snapped to attention. Cal had that kind of effect on people.

  “Colonel Wilson. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you on the Hill.”

  “Retired.” Cal let slip a half-smile.

  “Getting some golfing done?”

  “A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Mind if I steal Kaye for a few minutes?”

  “No, no,” Barney said. “I’ll catch up with her later. Good to see you, Colonel.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as the congressman walked away.

  Cal watched her closely with those dark eyes that others found formidable. “How are you?”

  “Good as new,” she said, but her hand fluttered to her left shoulder, dislocated in the crash in the tunnel. Nobody here, except she and Cal, knew about the accident. Her high-necked gown did a good job of covering the fading bruises.

  “I had a little talk with your security detail,” he said soberly, not missing the gesture.

  He never missed anything.

  “Thanks.” If Cal gave some pointers to Harrison and Green, she felt that much safer.

  “I want to bring in one of my own men.”

  She raised an eyebrow in response. Supposedly he no longer had any men in his command.

  “From my old team. I managed to maintain a few contacts,” he said with convincing innocence.

  As far as anyone knew, the Colonel had retired a couple of years ago, only doing some light consulting now and then. Right. He was up to his neck in something, but no matter how much she itched to figure out the mystery, in the interest of national security and their friendship, she always accepted his explanations.

  She wasn’t about to start questioning him now. “They’re already whining about the security I have.” She kept smiling, in case anyone was watching. “I’m not going to get budget approved for more. The police don’t think the accident was anything deliberate. They think the other driver might have been under the influence.”

  “You won’t to have to worry about my guy. If anybody asks, tell them he’s a friend of a friend from the private sector, doing a favor.”

  “Okay.” She couldn’t see any reason why that shouldn’t work just fine.

  “I want him to go home with you tonight.”

  The buzz of conversation rose and ebbed around them. Crystal rang from impromptu toasts.

  “You think it’s that serious?” she asked, her temporary sense of safety dissipating.

  “Just being overprotective.” Cal’s smile widened, crinkling the ebony skin on a strong face that otherwise showed little sign of age. “As boring as retirement is, this is the closest I can get to intrigue and action. I can’t keep myself from meddling,” he said and scanned the crowd reflexively, as he did every few minutes wherever they were. She was used to oddities that had been part of him since she remembered.

  The next second his attention was back on her. “The cops are looking for the car?”

  “Without success so far.” She had no doubt he would get a copy of the final police report the minute it was completed.

  “Good, good.” He took her hand and patted it in a fatherly gesture. “Let me find the boy and I’ll bring him over.”

  “If I’m talking with Congressman Barney, feel free to interrupt.” She watched him walk away and melt into the sea of people—at fifty-two, he cut a finer figure than most men half his age.

  Flashing cameras caught her eye to the right, the press talking to the senior representative from Illinois. The media hadn’t made their way to her yet tonight, but they would sooner or later.

  Better touch up the makeup; she’d been nervous enough to perspire. She navigated toward the bathrooms, greeting most people by name as she passed among small groups.

  Norman Barney’s wife was sitting on the pink sofa in the foyer of the bathroom, two women she didn’t know chatted at the sinks.

  “How are you, Alice?” she said as the door swung closed behind her.

  “Good. Thank you, Congresswoman. New shoes.” She pointed ruefully to her feet with a diamond-glazed hand.

  Kaye smiled with sympathy. The heavy gown she’d chosen for maximum coverage was killing her.

  Alice winced as she stood. “I suppose I better get out there. Almost over anyway.”

  “Almost.” Kaye reached for her evening bag that held her lipstick and compact, then she changed her mind and went into a stall instead, sat on the closed lid. She needed a moment, just a few seconds alone to close her eyes and let her facial muscles relax.

  “See you later,” Alice called out.

  The door closed with a swoosh behind her, then after the other two who soon followed, their voices fading as they gushed about some plastic surgeon. The buzz of people filtered in from outside, but blissfully muted. She had as much quiet as she could hope to get in this place. She rubbed her temples. How long had she been in here? A minute or two? How much could she afford?

  Nothing escaped notice in this town. If the Majority Whip spent half an hour in the ladies’ room at a major event, people would speculate. By tomorrow, the tabloids would either give her a deadly disease or accuse her of carrying the president’s secret baby.

  She allowed herself another minute or two before she straightened her spine and stood. Makeup, some more schmoozing, picking up a new bodyguard, then she could go home. If she couldn’t drum up enough support for Tuesday’s vote tonight, she would go in early on Monday and work the phones.

  She was about to stand when the outer door opened and someone came in. Shoes scuffed the marble tiles—not the clicking of designer heels worn by every woman in the place. The scent of a man’s cologne cut through the lemony smell of bathroom disinfectants.

  Whoever was out there shuffled forward then hesitated. Should she say something? Let him kn
ow that she was in here and he was in the wrong place? Instinct kept her silent. The picture of the tall stranger who’d watched her earlier popped into her mind. Had he, or someone else perhaps, followed her in here?

  She held her breath and pulled up her feet, careful to make sure her gown didn’t dangle to the floor. She balanced on the top of the toilet, feeling stupid after the first second or two. Who was she kidding? If the man meant harm, all he had to do was check the doors and find which one was locked then he could shoot her right through the thin panel of wood.

  The thought jarred her. This was ridiculous. She’d been watching too many crime shows late at night. Nobody was going to shoot her in the ladies’ room of The Hotel George with half of Congress outside.

  Still, her hand trembled as she stood and reached for the door to pull it open. The outer door of the bathroom opened at the same time.

  “Roger?” She glanced from the man to the young aide who’d stopped in her tracks at the door, then back again to Congressman Roger Cole, the House Majority Leader, who stood in the middle of the ladies’ room with confusion on his face.

  Tension left her at once, replaced by embarrassment. She had half worked herself into panic over Roger. She had to snap out of this. She couldn’t be seeing boogeymen behind everything or she would drive herself crazy.

  The Majority Leader blinked and his right hand came out of his pocket with a white handkerchief. He wiped his forehead.

  “I apologize, ladies.” He blinked again, then slid down to one knee.

  “Roger? All you all right?” She helped him up.

  “Too much champagne,” he said quietly to her and offered a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry.”

  The aide was looking at him with a scandalized expression. She didn’t recognize the young girl. To which party did she belong? It might make the difference in whether they would have to worry about seeing the story in the newspapers in the morning.

  “Is your heart giving you trouble again? Should I call Liz?” she said distinctly, making the issue a medical one.