One

“Please tell me this is the last one.”

Sam Deering linked both hands above his head and stretched his powerful arms. He had kinks in his back from sitting so long, exactly the kind of thing his physical therapist would give him hell for, but he really needed to get somebody into the new position so he had to finish the interviews today. He dropped his glasses on top of the stack of paper before him and stood, stretching his left leg. It had never been the same since he’d been shot, but it was a lot better than anyone expected, so he supposed he couldn’t complain.

“You okay?” Del Smith, the vice president of Protective Services, Incorporated, looked up from the résumé she was reviewing, her heavily lashed brown eyes focusing on him.

“Yeah.” He picked up his glasses and resettled them on his nose, then nodded at the door. “Let’s get this over with.” It had been an exciting ride over the past few years, he thought. PSI might have started out small, but it was making up for it now. About a month ago, he’d realized they needed an assistant for their in-house undercover consultant to handle the amount of work they were getting. He liked the fact that his Virginia-based company could respond to so many different needs in people’s lives, from kidnappings to home-security analyses to bodyguard services, but it kept him on his toes.

Del and him, he corrected himself. Without her, he might never have been able to put this all together.

“This is the last one.” Del’s husky voice sounded as relieved as he was. She laid a neat file before him on his desk, picking up the previous one at the same time. “Here’s the next interview.”

Sam flipped open the file, casually riffling through it as he watched her from beneath his lashes. “What do you think so far?”

Del shrugged slender shoulders beneath the oversize man’s work shirt that was part of her standard code of dress. Beneath the open shirt she wore a PSI T-shirt that probably would fit Sam. He suspected there were some decent breasts under those sloppy casual clothes, but in seven years, he’d never once seen her in anything other than her jeans and shirts or a shapeless black jacket and pants she wore when they entertained clients. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he could ask about, either. So, Del, what size jugs you got under that shirt? No, probably not a good idea.

Unaware of his thoughts, Del shook her head as she arranged papers in front of her own seat. “The Sanders man probably would be competent, but he didn’t show me anything special, if you want the truth.”

He nodded, forcing himself to focus on the potential employees they’d spent the afternoon interviewing. “I agree. Maybe we’ll get lucky on the last one.”

Del gave him a small smile as she turned to walk to the doorway. “Maybe.”

As she strode across the floor in the no-nonsense style he associated with Del, Sam watched her go. He knew she was slender beneath the baggy jeans and shapeless shirt, but the clothes left him guessing at details. Over the years, he’d become obsessed with trying to catch her in positions that might give him a hint of what lay beneath those layers.

Today, as always, her long, shiny brown hair was braided into a single thick rope that hung from the hole in the back of the baseball cap she always wore and as she walked, it twitched from side to side, brushing across her butt rhythmically, capturing his gaze as surely as if she were stripping in front of him. What would that mane of waist-length hair look like loose and flowing around her shoulders? Hard to believe that in nearly seven years of working in each other’s pockets every day, he’d never seen her with it down.

He shifted in his chair, glad he was sitting down. He doubted any of his employees had any idea how his vice president turned him on and he wanted to keep it that way. It wasn’t as if he had any intention of acting on it, after all.

No, the last thing he needed was any sort of entanglement with a woman. PSI was the only mistress he had time for. A flesh-and-blood woman would never be content with the long hours he put in, the occasional urgent summons and instant response that certain kinds of cases required.

The door of his office opened again and Del ushered in a tall woman in a severe dark jacket and pants with a white button-down shirt. The jacket was a boxy, unconstructed cut and as he assessed her, he’d bet that it had been made to conceal a sidearm, although she wasn’t carrying today.

Del took her seat at Sam’s side with a second file. “This is Karen Munson,” she said. “Karen, Sam Deering, the president of PSI.”

She turned her attention to Sam for a moment. “Ms. Munson has a Criminal Justice degree from Penn State. She started as a beat cop in Miami, worked her way up to Homicide investigations and then applied to the FBI. Her background includes criminal profiling, kidnapping investigations and long-term deep-cover assignments.”

“Call me Karen,” the woman said, smiling at him. There was no hint of flirtation in the smile, and no hint that she recognized him as anything other than the head of the firm.

Good. The last thing he needed was an employee blabbing his whereabouts to the press. He’d had enough media attention nine years ago to last a lifetime. Even Del didn’t know about his past. He’d considered telling her a time or two, back in the early days when even the easiest of physical tasks had been such an obvious struggle for him. But she’d never asked how he’d been hurt, simply did what she could to lighten his load. And in recent years, he’d improved so much that he sometimes even forgot he’d been shot.

“Why did you get out of undercover work, Ms. Munson?” he asked, glancing at the file.

“I had a child,” she said. “I wanted more regular hours.”

“You might not always get them here,” he warned.

She nodded. “I understand. I’ve read the information you gave me. But my circumstances have changed now and I have no time constraints anymore.”

“None? No child care?”

Karen Munson’s mouth compressed into a thin line. She looked away for a moment and he saw her take a deep, fortifying breath. “My son has passed away,” she said quietly. “Frankly, Mr. Deering, the busier you can keep me, the happier I’ll be.” She leaned forward, all business again. “As you can see, I have management experience as well as expertise in a number of the areas you indicate you need.”

The interview went on for another thirty minutes, longer than he’d spent with the other three applicants who had cleared the background checks and job-description requirements. When it ended, he’d hired Karen Munson as an assistant to his undercover ops team leader.

She shook his hand, then Del’s, and Del led her to her office to give her some paperwork to fill out over the weekend. As she shut the door behind them, his intercom beeped. Punching an open channel, he said, “What’s up, Peg?”

Peggy Doonen was Del’s assistant and had been manning the front office during the interview.

“It’s quittin’ time, that’s what’s up!” Peggy’s boisterous good humor boomed around the room. “I thought you said we had a light weekend coming up.”

“We do. What’s your rush?” Sam didn’t generally engage in banter with his employees but Peggy was a force of nature, the office’s self-appointed morale officer, class clown and party planner. He’d actually made part of her job description “employee satisfaction” a couple of years ago, and she was worth every penny of the increase. The office was a pleasant, friendly working environment, his employees a close-knit team that generally ran amazingly smoothly despite all the different personalities.

“It’s Del’s birthday is what’s the rush,” she informed him. “And we’re taking her out to dinner tonight. So unless you’ve got something important going on in there, set her free. Matter of fact, why don’t you relax a little for once and come along with us?”

“No, thanks.” The refusal was automatic. “That might inhibit some people.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Peggy opined. “If you change your mind, we’ll be at O’Flaherty’s Irish Pub. We’re meeting at six.”

“Have a good time,” he said automatically. Del’s birthday. For a moment, he felt vaguely guilty. She’d worked for him since he’d opened the firm seven years ago, was his most trusted employee…and he didn’t even know it was her birthday. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have access to the information, either. He’d just never bothered to learn.

Then he shrugged it off. That was part of Peggy’s job, making sure employee birthdays were recognized. She sent cards from the firm on which he dutifully scribbled his signature when she thrust them under his nose. She organized lunch or dinner get-togethers to celebrate, although he’d never attended—

His intercom buzzed again. “Yo,” he said, punching a button.

“Ms. Munson’s gone. She’ll be here Monday at nine,” Del’s voice said. “I’m heading out, too, unless there’s anything else you need.”

“No. See you Monday.”

“Have a good weekend. See you Monday.”

“Hey, Del?”

“What?”

“Happy birthday.”

“Oh.” She sounded surprised and pleased, and he mentally thanked Peggy for clueing him in. “Thank you.”

“I would sing, but we’d both be sorry,” he told her.

“We’ll pretend you already did,” she suggested. “Thanks for the lovely serenade.” She chuckled, a warm, husky sound that vibrated pleasantly through him. He’d always liked making her laugh, though she did it rarely. Del was one of the most focused people he’d ever known when her mind was engaged on a problem. And in their line of work, problems were commonplace.

“Have a good weekend,” he said.

“You, too.” Her intercom clicked off.

He stood there for a moment, wishing she didn’t have to leave. Then he shook himself. Don’t be ridiculous, Deering. You don’t need to get involved with anyone who works for you.

That was assuming Del would even be interested in him, anyway. As far as he knew, she had never dated anyone from work. Hell, he couldn’t remember her ever speaking about her personal life, so he really didn’t know whether she dated at all. She’d been single when he hired her and he was pretty sure she still was. No husband would put up with the hours Del spent at work. She was with him way more than half her waking hours in any given week.

 

He was on his way home when the idea popped into his head and wouldn’t go away. Why not? Peggy invited you, he reminded himself.

Yeah, but she didn’t really mean it.

Sure she did. Peggy doesn’t say things she doesn’t mean.

The other employees wouldn’t like it.

How would you know? You’re always invited but you never go.

All right. Fine. So he’d go one time just to see what all the birthday hoopla was about. And because it was Del. After all, she was his second in command, and he really should recognize all the work she did for him. He swung the car off the Capital Beltway toward Fairfax, where he knew O’Flaherty’s was located not far from Tyson’s Corner Mall.

He glanced at his watch. Seven-fifteen. He’d be late, but that was good, wasn’t it? This way, his employees would see that he just stopped to offer his best wishes, not to cramp their party style. And they’d have finished dinner by now.

He parked and walked into the Irish pub. He was barely through the front door before he saw them. There were three round tables crammed full of PSI people.

No, that wasn’t right. There was a slender redhead who wasn’t one of his employees. She was so unslender in one particular spot that she must have had implants, he decided. She was snuggling against Gerald Walker, a former federal agent who headed up the security-analysis team. Walker had been through a bitter divorce about a decade ago. Sam knew this because one night shortly after PSI had opened he’d called Walker to come in on an after-hours consult and the man staggered in with one of the worst hangovers Sam had ever seen on someone still standing.

“Saw my ex today for the first time in a couple of years,” Walker had explained. “It was either drink or put my fist through a wall.”

Sam shook his head at the memory as he wove through the crowd. There was one other woman he didn’t know with the group, a petite female with a wealth of chestnut hair softly waving around her shoulders and falling down her back. She wore a strappy little black dress that exposed slim, muscled arms and shoulders and a generous amount of cleavage. Wow. None of his employees looked like that in a little black dress.

She had her face turned away from him, talking to the firm’s accountant with whom she must have come. He couldn’t see if the face matched that truly delectable body. Still, he wondered idly what a woman like that was doing with the chubby, bookish accountant.

But…where was Del? His steps slowed as he realized the birthday girl wasn’t in the crowd.

“Sam! Hey, Sam, glad you could make it!” Peggy spotted him and stood up, one hand waving madly. “Look, everyone, it’s Sam.”

He ducked his head and made for the table, miserably aware that half the people in the place had turned to look at him. Damn! What a dumb idea. Why hadn’t he talked himself out of this? It was true he hadn’t been recognized in some years now, but this would be the perfect place for it. He came to such restaurants and bars so rarely that he actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out for a purely social function.

He forged through the room to his group’s tables. Peggy already had requisitioned an extra chair and everyone at her table scooched over so he could join them. Peggy had placed the chair beside hers. Directly across the table from him sat Grover and one of the strangers.

Only when she lifted her head and looked across the table at him, she was no stranger. The girl with the long, wild cloud of hair and the incredible figure had Del’s small heart-shaped face, Del’s velvety brown eyes and the cleft in Del’s stubborn little chin.

Holy hell. He felt as if he’d been sucker punched right in the gut. Thank God he hadn’t asked Peggy where Del was.

“Hey, Del,” he said, making a superhuman effort to pull himself together and act normally. “Happy Birthday. Again.”

“You missed the cake,” someone said.

“That’s all right.” He was still looking at Del, unable to process how his efficient vice president had become this…this hot.

And hot she most definitely was. Instead of her standard old baggy shirts, she was wearing that little black dress with spaghetti straps. She filled it out beautifully, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t due to surgical enhancement, either.

“Nothing to say about Del’s transformation?” Peggy asked. “The rest of us almost walked right past without recognizing her.”

“I’d have done the same.” He forced himself to tear his eyes away from Del. “It’s a good thing she doesn’t come to the office looking like that or we’d have clients crawling all over each other requesting a consultation with her.”

The waitress approached then and he ordered a beer. Del got another drink, too, another of the green things in a big hurricane glass with a shamrock swizzle stick. But no one else did.

“Better not,” said Sally from payroll. “I’ve got to drive and I need to get home to feed the dogs, anyway.”

“My wife held dinner for me,” the personal-security consultant said.

One by one, various people made their excuses and left until all that remained were Walker and his top-heavy date, Peggy, Del and him. After a few more moments, Peg also stood. “My youngest had a soccer game tonight. I figure I’ll make it just in time to pick him up if I scamper now.” She leaned down and bussed Del on the cheek. “See you Monday, birthday girl. Bye, boss, bye, Walker. Jennifer, it was nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you, too.” The redhead spoke with a breathy baby doll voice that sounded too silly to be real. It was the first thing she’d said since Sam had arrived, and he couldn’t help turning incredulous eyes to Del.

When she met his gaze, there was amusement in the chocolate depths. He could almost hear her saying Is she for real? Suddenly he felt a lot more comfortable. She might have transformed her exterior but underneath she was still the person with whom he shared an almost uncanny nonverbal communication.

“Bye.” Del spoke in unison with him. As Peggy maneuvered through the crowd toward the door, there was an awkward silence.

“So, Walker, we hired an assistant undercover consultant today.” Del was quicker at making an effort to salvage the conversation than he was. “She’s got a lot of experience with undercover work, which should complement Doug’s capabilities.” The undercover team typically assisted with bodyguard and surveillance work and often worked closely with Walker on abduction cases.

“A woman?”

Del nodded. “A very competent woman.”

“Great,” Walker said. “Since we got that little girl back from the relatives in France who stole her from the mother, we’ve gotten more work than Doug and I can comfortably handle. Someone with additional undercover expertise is just what we need. And it’s probably a good idea to add a woman to the team.”

“Oooh, you work undercover?” Jennifer turned on a high-voltage smile as she batted big blue eyes at Walker. She punched him playfully on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me that. How exciting!”

“Not really.” Walker looked as if he was strangling in a tight necktie, except that he wasn’t wearing one.

Sam took a closer look at Walker’s date. Was she even legal? Beneath the boatload of makeup, the woman looked unbelievably young.

“What kind of work do you do, Jennifer?” Del stepped into the silence once again.

“Oh, I’m a model,” she said. “Or at least, I wanna-be. Right now I take classes at the Barbizon School of Modeling and I work in the makeup department at Bloomie’s.”

A model wannabe? Jeez, there had to be a twenty-year age gap between Walker and his date. What the hell was the man trying to prove? Then Sam jumped as a small but lethal foot wearing a very pointy shoe kicked him in the shin. He turned and glared at Del but she was smiling at Jennifer.

“Modeling can be hard work.” Del did her best to sound admiring.

“Uh-huh.” Jennifer leaned forward. “I bet it’s really fun being a secretary for these guys.”

“Del’s not a secretary,” Walker said. “She’s my boss.”

“Wow!” The redhead clearly didn’t know where to go with that statement. Eyeing Del critically, she said, “You know, if you’re in management, you really should learn how to maximize your assets. I could fix you up with a makeover in no time flat. You’d be even more of a knockout with a push-up bra and—”

“Well,” Walker said heartily. “Jennifer and I need to get going. Del, hope it was a good one. See you Monday, you guys.” And with what was clearly the haste of a man in full retreat, he dragged his date out the door.

Sam watched them go. “Maximize your assets?”

Across the table, Del couldn’t contain herself any longer. She snickered, then began to laugh. Her amusement was contagious and after a moment, he joined her.

“A makeover,” she managed. “If she could only see my usual attire. She’d run screaming.”

“It’s probably past her bedtime,” he said as their laughter subsided.

“Be nice.” But Del’s shoulders still were shaking with laughter. “What in the world is Walker thinking?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Do I really have to explain?”

“Besides the obvious,” she said severely. “What could they possibly have in common?”

He only looked at her. “What else do they need?”

Even as the words hit the air, he realized the comment was a mistake. There was a moment of silence that, to him anyway, felt charged with erotic particles of sensual speculation. Though he’d often wondered about Del the woman, he’d never shared with her this kind of vivid awareness, a pull that made him want to reach over and set his mouth on hers.

Sam cleared his throat. “We seem to have been deserted,” he said.

“The group doesn’t usually stay late,” she told him. “A drink, sometimes dinner and that’s about it. Most everyone has a family to get home to.” She twisted around and found the strap of her purse, which had been hanging on the back of her chair. “I appreciate you coming by, but don’t feel you have to stay.”

“I don’t,” he said, trying not to stare at the way her little dress shifted every time she moved. Suddenly, going home to his empty apartment seemed unbearable. “But I’m starving. I haven’t eaten. Would you like to have another drink with me while I get a bite of supper?”

“Are you sure? This isn’t just birthday pity?”

He felt the corners of his lips curving upward. “Nope. This is hunger speaking. I eat alone too much. Why don’t you stay?” He shouldn’t be encouraging her to linger. He was used to eating alone and the last thing he needed was for his vice president to think he was coming on to her. But he found he was waiting eagerly for her answer.

She hesitated a moment longer, then finally shrugged. “Sure. I don’t have anything to rush home to.”

“No pets?”

“Not even fish.” She slanted him a wry look. “My boss is very demanding and I never know when I’m going to be needed for odd hours and overtime.”

“Hey,” he said, “you never said you minded. In fact, you often work harder and stay later than I do.”

She shrugged again, making the little dress cling to her curves enticingly. One strap drooped off her shoulder and she impatiently hitched it back up. “Like I said, nothing to rush home to.”

He had to concentrate to form a coherent answer. “Me, neither. I appreciate the company.”

And he did. He was enjoying himself. While Del was efficient and not afraid to make her opinion known at the office, they rarely had time for personal exchanges. He’d learned more about her already tonight than he had in the past seven years.

“So why the transformation?” he asked. “You look great, but it’s definitely a change from your usual garb.”

“My mother sent this dress for my birthday,” she told him. “Usually, the things she sends are so outrageous I wouldn’t even wear them when I was alone. This wasn’t too bad so I took a self-timed digital picture to send to her.”

“Very thoughtful,” he pronounced. “Why does she send you outrageous things?”

Del’s eyes darkened as she took a sip of her drink. “Because that’s exactly what she’s like. Outrageous.”