Susan Mallery: The Marcelli Bride

“You don’t have the authority to get rid of me.”

She leaned in slightly. “Want to test that theory? Nothing is going to happen to Darcy Jensen on my watch. I don’t care what I have to do or who I have to offend to keep her safe. If you’re not fully on this team, then you’re in my way. Do I make myself clear?”

His expression didn’t change, but she saw something flash in his eyes. Respect, maybe. However grudgingly given, she would accept it.

“You like her,” he said, sounding surprised.

“I do. I’ve worked with Darcy before. She’s funny, smart, and not interested in being the center of attention. That makes my job easier, and I appreciate that. So are you on board?”

He nodded. “A hundred percent.”

Paige accepted his word because she had to, but she vowed to keep an eye on him. SEAL or not-if he got in her way, she was taking him down.

Darcy had spent the previous night in a small house on the edge of Baltimore. This morning, after a short flight to Florida, she’d been delivered to another nondescript location on the edge of what looked like a massive swamp. She’d been warned not to leave the house, not to make phone calls, and not to answer the door under any circumstances.

Oh, right. Because she wanted to make a general statement, announcing her location to the world.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door. Darcy refused to be seen as a coward, so she uncurled on the bed and sat up.

“Come in,” she said, expecting Alex Vanmeter, the special agent in charge of her security and Drew’s replacement.

Alex stepped in and nodded at her. “Your father will be here in fifteen minutes.”

Darcy blinked at him. “My father? He’s in Chicago.”

“He’s flying back to D.C. tonight and is stopping by to see you.”

Before Darcy could say anything, Alex touched the ever-present earpiece and then nodded. “Falcon is on the ground.”

Meaning her father had landed and was being driven to the safe house.

She stood. As Alex excused himself, she entered the bathroom attached to the bedroom and ran a brush through her short, dark hair. She looked tired and either sick or shell-shocked. Makeup could help, but there wasn’t much time.

Exactly fourteen minutes later, President Ryan Jensen walked into her temporary bedroom.

“Darcy,” he said when his assigned agent had swept the room then left them alone. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m sure the doctors faxed you a medical report. You tell me.”

Ryan Jensen had served as vice president for four years before running for the head job. He was eighteen months into his first term. The stresses of the office aged some men, but not her father. Oh, there were a few more gray hairs at his temples, but that only made him more attractive. Last year he’d had to deal with the embarrassing reality of being named the country’s most eligible bachelor.

Right now, though, the leader of the free world looked annoyed and frustrated. “Darcy, I’m on a very tight schedule. I changed my flight plan to come by and see you. That has to mean something.”

“It does, Dad. Really. I hope you’re not keeping anyone important waiting. I mean it’s been nearly forty-eight hours since the kidnapping. I wouldn’t have wanted you to rush to my side or anything.”

His gaze narrowed. “I phoned when I was informed about the kidnapping.”

“You did, and it was a very touching call. Did I thank you for it? I meant to.”

“You’re impossible,” he muttered. “Fine. Be angry with me or whomever you’d like. Regardless, I’m glad you’re all right and I want you to stay safe. For once, listen to what the agents tell you to do, will you?”

The unfairness of the request took her breath away. She’d always listened. They were the ones who had let her down.

But what was the point in trying to explain anything? Ryan Jensen had stopped hearing her years ago.

“Be grateful you got away without getting hurt,” he added.

Darcy thought about the still-healing scratches on her legs, the rope burns on her wrists, and the pain in her heart. There had been plenty of wounding, but it wasn’t the kind he meant.

Someone knocked on the closed door. Ryan Jensen glanced toward it, then back at her. “I need to get to Washington. You’ll have a secure line up and running at your safe house in a day or so. Check in and let me know how you are.”

“It’s what I live for,” she told him.

“Dammit, Darcy.” He looked at her, started to speak, then caught himself. He turned away and was gone.

When she was alone again, Darcy crawled back onto the bed and pulled her knees to her chest. He was a busy man. She should be grateful he’d diverted to Florida to see her. It could almost mean something.

But instead of convincing herself, she remembered a dark night ten years before. When he’d glared at her and yelled that she wasn’t his daughter. She never had been.

Later, he’d apologized. He’d spoken in anger and grief. He hadn’t meant it.

Regardless of his contrition, he’d spoken the truth. Ryan Jensen wasn’t her father. That long-ago night the lies fell away, and his words had changed her forever.

T he plane left Florida shortly after daybreak, which, with the time difference, meant an early arrival in California. Darcy hadn’t known their destination until an hour into the flight, when Alex Vanmeter had informed her they would be landing at a naval base north of Los Angeles.

As she stepped off the plane usually used to transport the vice president, she saw three black SUVs parked on the tarmac. Secret Service agents flanked her, making it difficult to get down the steep flight of stairs. The second her feet touched the ground, Alex moved in, took her arm, and hustled her to the middle SUV. He opened the door and slid in beside her.

“Pigeon is safe,” he said into the microphone at the inside of his left wrist. “Move out.”

Seconds later, all three vehicles drove away from the plane.

“At least you’re taking my security seriously,” she said as she gazed out the window.

“We always have.”

“Really? I have a kidnapping that says, not so much.”

“The other team screwed up. That won’t happen on my watch.”

“I really want to believe you, but you’re going to have to earn my trust. If that sort of thing matters.”

“It does. A comfortable subject is more likely to cooperate.”

She glanced at the man sitting next to her. Late thirties, she would guess. About five ten and strong. She could see the ripple of muscles through the suit jacket he wore. There was something about him. Something not quite civilized. As if he hadn’t grown up in the company of polite society.

Bad boy turned good guy? She wouldn’t want to bet against him in a street fight, a thought she found comforting.

“Do you really think after what happened I’m going to be difficult?” she asked.

“You have a reputation for being a pain in the ass.”

Darcy knew all about that. The press wasn’t fond of her because when her father had been running for vice president, she’d traveled in the press bus as part of an internship project for one of her college classes. Instead of reporting on the campaign, she’d written an exposé on several members of the press corps, detailing who had substance-abuse problems, who was having an affair, and who had a thing for underaged campaign workers.

She also didn’t play the political game very well. But she’d never screwed with her Secret Service team.

“Get back to me with exactly one time when I ducked out or escaped them,” she said, holding her temper in check. “Or when I did something they told me not to do. I might have a reputation for being difficult, Alex, but I’m not stupid.”