Mallory Kane - Covert Makeover

He had watched the tapes. Frustration swelled in his chest as he thought about how little evidence the police lab had been able to glean from the footage.

The tape showed Botero’s white limousine pulling up behind a late model sedan in front of Weddings Your Way. Johnson, dressed in chauffeur livery and obviously not happy about it, opened the rear door for Sonya, who, with her usual exuberant energy, bounced out smiling.

Then, a black limo had pulled up behind Botero’s and two men dressed in dark suits leaped out and grabbed Sonya. Johnson reacted immediately, but one of the men coldcocked him.

A well-built young man ran into the frame, straight toward the limo, but the black car had veered and jumped the curb, heading straight for Johnson.

Johnson rolled to one side, out of the frame of the camera as the limo barreled forward and hit a young woman. Sean now knew that the young woman was Caroline Graham and the man who’d rushed the limo was her brother, Alex.

At no time did either of the kidnappers show his face to the camera. It was as if they knew exactly where the blind spots were.

He eyed the state-of-the-art piece of equipment. It was the same brand he’d just purchased for Carlos’s estate. Cocking an eyebrow at the lens, he reached for the door handle. Weddings Your Way must be more successful than he realized.

He knew from his own wedding that they were expensive. But that kind of twenty-four-hour security cost more than his apartment rent for a year. Rachel Brennan had upgraded since the kidnapping. Too late for Sonya and Johnson, but smart.

Walking into the elegant reception area of Weddings Your Way was like walking onto the set of a famous Thirties-era movie. A young woman seated behind a delicately carved table greeted him.

“Good morning, sir. Welcome to Weddings Your Way. How may we assist you?”

“Rachel Brennan, please.”

The pretty young woman quickly surveyed him, taking in his custom-fitted summer suit and the state of his fingernails and hair.

“Sean Majors, Carlos Botero’s chief of security.” He handed her his card.

“Oh, of course Mr. Majors.” Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “Ms. Brennan is not available. Could I direct you to—” she glanced quickly at a desk calendar “—Ms. Brooks?”

Sean took in the large main salon of Weddings Your Way. Brooks. Which one was she?

To the right of the marble staircase, beyond the display of wedding gowns and veils, in a cozy alcove, a tall blonde dressed in black and white with black stockings encasing her long, shapely legs smiled at a petite redhead in bright pink sitting across from her.

As he watched, the two women stood.

Oh, yeah. The blonde with the legs was Sophie Brooks. How could he forget those legs? The sleek, sheer black stockings were an endangered species in Miami any time of year. They were extinct during the summer.

As the bride-to-be turned toward the door and the blonde sat and recrossed her legs, Sean admired the long expanse of thigh that was revealed below the short, tight skirt.

“Mr. Majors, I’ll let Ms. Brooks know—”

He waved his hand. “I see her.”

As he passed the redhead, she smiled pertly at him. He nodded without taking his eyes off Sophie Brooks.

Her straight blond hair hid her face as she wrote something in a leather notebook, then typed a few sentences into a small laptop that sat open on her desk.

Her phone buzzed as he approached. She answered it, listened for an instant, then slid her gaze up his body, giving her head a little toss as she met his eyes. “No, that’s fine. I’ll take him.”

Sean smiled.

She frowned, set the phone down and stood.

He heard the swish of ultrasheer nylon and to his surprise, his body reacted.

Damn. What the hell was wrong with him? He was working, and nothing interfered with his job. Certainly not a beautiful woman. Miami was filled with beautiful women. Besides, he had absolutely no interest in women right now, beautiful or otherwise. He had his job and his daughter. He didn’t need anything else.

But, oh, those silk-clad forever legs.

With a great deal of effort, he managed to keep his eyes on her face.

She smoothed her hands down her skirt and swallowed, her eyelids flickering. Did she sense the battle that was raging inside him?

Knock it off, Majors. His jaw tightened. He was here for one purpose. He had to let Rachel Brennan know about the second ransom note.

“Ms. Brooks?”

“I’m Sophie Brooks,” she said, holding out her hand.

He took it briefly. Her fingers were cool, which didn’t surprise him. He’d have been surprised if they’d been warm. She was the epitome of cool. Her demeanor was smooth, sophisticated, unflappable, except for that tiny movement of her throat when he’d met her gaze.

“Please sit,” she said.

He gestured. “After you.” Cursing at himself for his weakness, he stole one last glimpse of her crossing those legs.

She moved an album of wedding invitations from the small table in front of her.

“I need to speak to Rachel Brennan,” he said, eyeing the pink slipper chair, then sitting carefully on the edge of it and propping his elbows on his knees.

“Ms. Brennan isn’t here. Can I do something for you, Mr. Majors?”

“That depends. Are you familiar with the Botero kidnapping?”

Sophie Brooks’s gaze snapped to his, the clear blue of her eyes suddenly turning opaque. He could have sworn something inside her shut down.

She fiddled with the pen she held, then pulled a notepad toward her and began drawing swirling circles and loops on it.

“Yes, of course. An awful thing to have happen right outside our doors,” she commented, her eyes on the paper.

Doodling. Sean exhaled shortly. “Right. Not to mention how bad it must be for Sonya and her father and the people who were injured,” he said dryly.

For a second there, she’d reminded him of his ex-wife, self-absorbed and heartless. But he supposed he was giving the woman too much credit, expecting her to be concerned about someone she may have never even met. She was an employee of a fancy wedding planning salon. It was natural that her biggest concern would be for the reputation of the salon.

But she’d heard the censure in his voice, because her pen stilled and she compressed her lips. “Certainly. I heard your security guard regained consciousness. How is he?”

And he heard the faint hint of disapproval in hers, as if the kidnapping were Johnson’s fault and, by association, his. “They’re running tests. I’ll see him this afternoon.”

Her lashes lowered for an instant. “Yes, I understand you’ve gotten his physician to order no visitors until after you’ve talked with him.”

More disapproval.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Majors?”

Sean assessed her. She appeared to be in complete control—poised, her legs crossed, her back straight. Maybe too straight. She seemed ill at ease. “You design the invitations for Weddings Your Way, right?”

Her throat moved and she blinked.

She was thrown off by his sudden change of subject. Sean made it his business to assess the people he came in contact with. It came in handy. Those tiny reactions told him Sophie Brooks wasn’t a hundred percent unflappable.

“Yes,” she said evenly. “I help the bride choose the perfect invitation to introduce the most important event in a young woman’s life.” She paused. “Is that relevant?”

“We’ve actually met before. You designed the invitations for my wedding.”

Sophie did her best not to react. So that’s why he looked so familiar. She knew she’d seen him before. She’d caught a glimpse of him on the day of Sonya’s kidnapping, felt the sense of déjà vu, and thought perhaps his even, rugged features reminded her of a movie star. In the chaos of the tragedy, she’d forgotten about him.