Mallory Kane - Covert Makeover

Don’t you ever forget it. He hugged her tightly and deliberately locked away the doubt his ex-wife had tried to plant in his head.

“Say good-night to Rosita.”

“G’night, Rosita. Thank you for the tea cakes.”

“Do you know what we’re having for dinner tonight, sprout?”

“Hot dogs!”

He laughed as he headed for the kitchen. “Not quite. We’re having paella.”

“Pie. Eee.” Michaela stretched her mouth this way and that, trying to say the word. “I don’t like it.”

“Sure you do.” He set her in her chair and served up a small portion in a bowl. “Here you go. It’s chicken and rice—sort of.”

She picked up a tidbit of chicken with her fingers. “I like chicken.”

“I know you do, sprout.” Sean grinned and his daughter grinned back. “But use your spoon. You’ll get more that way. Then when we’re done, we’ll get your bath and I’ll read you a story.”

He glanced at the kitchen clock. It was nearly eight. He needed to work out the details of the ransom drop. He never went into any situation without being fully prepared. But it would wait until Michaela went to sleep.

He didn’t want to miss one second of the time he had to spend with her.

TWO DAYS LATER, everything was in place for the drop. Carlos had received a call from the kidnappers. As Sean had planned it, Carlos pretended to be too weak to talk, so Sean took the phone and identified himself as Carlos’s personal bodyguard. He’d refused to meet them in an abandoned warehouse in a shady part of town and countered with an area in the middle of downtown Miami near police headquarters.

The man on the phone grew angry, but Sean hadn’t lost his cool. He’d taunted them, saying they wouldn’t dare try making the drop near Weddings Your Way. His bluff worked. The drop was scheduled for six o’clock in the evening on the far side of Weddings Your Way’s large cul-de-sac.

Sean checked his watch. It was five-fifteen. He was in Rachel Brennan’s office, along with Sophie, Montoya and a petite blonde who hadn’t sat down since she’d entered the room. She was standing by the window, looking out over the grounds of Weddings Your Way.

Rachel Brennan was pacing. “We’re ready, Rafe?” she asked.

Montoya’s dark brown eyes snapped. “Absolutely. There is ample visibility on all sides. I have three video cameras set up. We will get everything on tape.”

“But your men know not to approach, right?” Sean asked, repositioning the worn baseball cap that was sitting on his knee. He was restless. He wanted to be outside, in place, in case the kidnappers came early.

“But of course. My men are experienced in surveillance. There will be no mistakes.”

Sean heard the words Montoya had bitten off. This time. It was a dig at Craig Johnson and by association, Sean.

His fingers tightened on the baseball cap but he forced himself to keep quiet. He’d wanted to use his own security team, but Montoya had argued that if the kidnappers were watching the place, they’d know all the regulars. A host of new people would spook them. So there wasn’t a single member of Botero’s security team here except for Sean himself.

Montoya’s distaste at having to work with him was obvious. Sean could appreciate that the other man was as angry and frustrated as he was that Sonya had been kidnapped right in front of Weddings Your Way. But the important thing was to get Sonya back.

Now wasn’t the time to get into a turf war.

“Sophie,” Rachel went on. “You understand that you have to be completely in control at all times. You’re going to be walking across that cul-de-sac alone.”

As Sophie nodded, Sean studied Rachel. Her appearance fit with her wedding planning business—all feminine and cool and carefree. But her attitude didn’t. She exuded an air of authority that seemed more suited to a law enforcement organization.

Sensing a movement from his right, Sean glanced at Sophie. His gaze followed her hand as it slid down her thigh, smoothing the material of her gray pin-striped skirt. Her reaction to stress. She was in her usual uniform—pencil-thin skirt that stopped just above her knees; soft, expensive long-sleeved blouse; and those sheer black stockings. Today she wore black sling-back pumps. She couldn’t have been more inappropriately dressed for navigating uneven pavement carrying a suitcase full of money.

“Sean?”

He realized he was staring at Sophie’s legs. He dragged his gaze away and acknowledged Rachel.

“I was asking if you had any last-minute changes.”

He shook his head. “Not unless you can convince Ms. Brooks to wear something more appropriate.”

Sophie’s blue eyes glinted. “I don’t see anything wrong—”

Rachel waved a hand. “If you can pry Sophie out of that tight skirt and those panty hose, be my guest.”

Rafe Montoya burst out laughing. Isabelle, the petite blonde, joined him.

Sophie’s face turned a bright becoming pink, and Sean was surprised to feel a grin soften his own features.

“I could give it a try,” he said with a sidelong glance at Sophie, whose eyelids fluttered as her cheeks flamed brighter. She smoothed her skirt again.

“Oh, please. Get a room,” Rachel said, chuckling.

It was a much-needed break in the tension.

Sean stood, wiping the grin off his face. “Let’s take our places. We have about a half hour, and if they come early, I want to be ready.” He headed for the door.

Sophie put her hands to her burning cheeks. Rachel’s offhand remark to Sean Majors had come way too close to the dream she’d had the past two nights that she couldn’t seem to shake. A dream in which he’d done exactly what Rachel had said. He’d managed to rid her of her skirt, make a mess of her blouse, and run his hands up the silk-clad length of her thigh.

She’d woken up shocked and uncomfortably aware of her body’s unfulfilled needs. She never had those kinds of dreams. Ever.

As she followed him down the marble staircase into the main salon ahead of her, she took the opportunity to study him. What was so different about this man that he showed up in her dreams?

Then, when he’d appeared this morning, driving a truck containing the logo of Weddings Your Way’s landscape service, and dressed as a hired gardener, Sophie had found herself facing another, equally intriguing side of him.

Gone was the impeccably dressed young executive. His faded green T-shirt with the ripped-out sleeves exposed tanned, well-muscled biceps and emphasized his broad shoulders. A pair of ancient jeans molded his lean hips and powerful thighs. The jeans had to be ten years old or more. No designer on Earth made prefaded jeans that fit like that. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he donned the frayed baseball cap.

Isabelle, walking beside her, nudged her, then nodded at Sean’s jeans-clad butt. Sophie’s face heated up again. She sent Isabelle a stiff smile.

Still, she couldn’t deny Isabelle’s message. Her coworker was right. Botero’s chief of security was sexy as hell.

She’d already acknowledged to herself that he was extraordinarily handsome. But today he looked earthy and supremely male, nothing like the sophisticated executive who’d grilled her about everything she’d seen on the day of the kidnapping.

This man, with his hair curling slightly around the edge of his cap and his strong neck and excellent body, exuded danger—the kind of danger that had gotten Sophie in trouble years ago. The kind of danger she’d avoided ever since she was seventeen.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and waited for her. His face was solemn, his jaw tight, but she didn’t miss the flicker of his eyelids as he checked out her skirt and her legs.