Addison Fox - Secret Agent Boyfriend

“You may want to rethink that, since you’ve never been up against a nameless killer or a missing-person’s case.”

“Ah yes, family drama worthy of a nighttime soap.” She eyed him over the rim of her coffee mug, more amusement in her gaze than any trace of fear, before leaning forward. “Does my aunt Kate think my mother killed my father, too? That’s the prevailing wisdom, you know.”

The urge to hold back was strong, but he went with honesty. For her own protection, Landry deserved at least that much. But on a deeper level, he sensed he’d gain far more by appealing to her inherent intelligence than placating her as he suspected too many others did. “She hasn’t ruled anything out. And your mother’s mad dash to Europe hasn’t put suspicious minds to rest.”

“She’s also an easy target. Kate has never cared for my mother.”

“From what little I’ve gathered, I’d say that’s a sport around here.”

Derek saw the moment his words registered, her eyes going round in her face before the first genuine smile curved her lips. “Now that’s one you don’t hear every day.”

“I’m not here to placate anyone. And I suspect I’d be rather bad at it if I tried.”

Her smile faded, their moment of connection lost. “What else did my aunt say?”

“She believes you’re all in danger, you especially. And she believes that danger won’t pass until the identity of your brother Jackson is discovered.”

Landry settled back in her seat, the aggression fading from her shoulders. “Ah yes, the missing Adair heir. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

If the past few days had shown him anything, it was that the Adairs knew how to keep to themselves. Yes, they had a legion of staff at their disposal, but they were a family that lived at the highest echelons of society. Babbling about their family business wasn’t in their nature. And he suspected that what conversation had gone on was done behind closed doors so even the servants couldn’t hear all the details.

“No, it’s all you and your family can talk about. And it’s the real reason Kate asked me to come.”

Her gaze roamed over his face, and he fought the urge to shift in his seat under that direct stare. Before she could say anything, he pressed on. “My expertise is missing-persons cases. It’s what I do for the FBI and I’m damn good at it.”

Until recently .

That admonition whispered like smoke through his mind, and he ignored it. Ignored that pervasive sense of failure that had dogged his heels like the hounds of hell since his last case went unsolved. Ignored the resulting sense of loss at his failure to protect an innocent young girl.

Landry Adair wasn’t Rena.

And he wouldn’t fail again.

“So that’s the gig? You pose as my new boyfriend so you can nose around here and dig into the past?”

“Pretty much.”

Landry slipped on her sunglasses, the shielding of her eyes as clear a message as simply standing up and walking away. “I’ll consider it on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re partners on your little investigation.”

“I work better alone.”

“Then you can head right back the way you came. Despite what she may think, my aunt doesn’t have a say in what goes on in this house. Neither do my brothers. And while I may love all of them to pieces, I’m not going to follow along like some frightened puppy.”

“I’m a trained professional.”

“And I live here. You’ll do far better as my ally than my enemy.”

Derek knew he had a stubborn streak a mile wide and twice as deep. He also knew when it made sense to step back and let the target think they had the lead. He’d give Landry Adair her head for a few days. From all the intel he had, it was easy to assume she’d get bored in less time, anyway.

“No one can know what I’m after.”

“Of course.”

“Not even your mother.”

“Then it won’t be a change from how we usually get on. I don’t tell my mother anything. And as you so succinctly mentioned, she’s out of the country right now anyway.”

With her eyes shaded, he couldn’t see any hint of emotion deep in her expressive gaze, but even sunglasses couldn’t hide the subtle tightening of her slim shoulders. “So we’re agreed?”

“Agreed.”

She extended her hand across the table and Derek hesitated, the implied contract not lost on him. When she only waited, he slid his fingers over hers, her delicate skin soft under his calloused palm.

It didn’t make sense, nor was it rational, but in that moment he knew his world had reordered itself. And he knew with even greater certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

Her hand slipped from his as she stood, her breakfast untouched. “Well, then. You’d better get ready.”

“For what?”

“We’ve got a governor to go meet.”

* * *

Landry slipped her cell phone into her caramel-colored clutch purse and left her room. She’d already fastened on her suit—Armani, of course—and the subtle jewelry that had become her trademark. Her heels sank into the ranch’s plush carpet as she moved from her wing toward the main staircase.

Although she’d been raised with the understanding that not much was expected of her beyond perfect hair, impeccable manners and a few well-chosen charities, she’d determined early on that she wasn’t going to let that be an excuse. So she’d channeled the frustration born of low expectations—along with boredom and a damn fine business degree—into making life better for others.

It had been a fulfilling choice until recently.

Until the bottom had dropped out of her world and she’d been forced to wonder about the morals, ethics and basic decency of her loved ones.

And her mother sat at the top of the list.

As Patsy Adair’s youngest child—and only daughter—she’d grown up with the knowledge that her mother was different. Cold and brittle, she wore both like a battle shield against the world. And wielded them equally well.

As a result, Landry had gone to the right schools. Had the right friends. Hell, she’d nearly even married the right man because it fit what was expected of her.

Wealth brought privileges and expectation in equal measure, and Landry had always understood that. What she couldn’t understand was how her mother could live a life so devoid of warmth and kindness.

Or love.

She turned down the last corridor toward the stairs and came to a stop at the top, thoughts of her family and their low expectations vanishing as if they’d never been.

Derek Winchester stood in the great hall, a phone pressed to his ear, and she gave herself a moment to look her fill. The same impression she’d gotten this morning of subtle strength and power was still there, but she let others swirl and form around it. He was tall and whipcord lean, but the strength in those broad shoulders was more than evident.

His coloring was dark—darker than she’d realized in the sun—and she placed his ancestry as holding some, if not all, Native American. Unbidden, an image of him on horseback filled her mind’s eye, roaming the High Plains and protecting his family from harm.

Protecting what was his.

She fought the fanciful notion and continued on down the stairs, already on the descent before he could catch her staring at him. Landry fought the slight hitch in her chest when she cleared the last stair and came to stand next to him.

And she refused to give an inch by relaxing the haughty demeanor that she swirled around herself like a cloak. “Do you have a suit jacket?”

“In the car.”

“And a tie?”

“Right next to the jacket.”

“Then let’s get them and go.”