tossed a startled look at him that quickly morphed into a soft haze, as if she was remembering the good times they had shared. “No. Nothing.”
“That was probably wise. What would be the point?” He took in her rich brown hair, her coordinated black-and-turquoise sweater outfit, her designer bag. He didn’t know the brand names, and maybe that was the point. He was quickly realizing that he would do anything to protect Hannah, but that also brought the pain of the knowledge that there was zero chance for a relationship. She was beautiful and smart and caring and seemed perfect for him. But he had a career now, the one he had dreamed of since the time his parents were murdered.
How could he ask her to leave her family for him when they had so much to offer and so many resources to provide for her? What kind of jerk would he be if he expected her to give up the love of her parents and brother and sit in a tiny apartment alone, while he went out on mission after mission after mission? He exhaled roughly. Besides, when it came down to it, he wasn’t good enough for her anyway.
Derek pulled into the long cement lane that led to the McClarnon mansion. A gardener was pushing a wheelbarrow toward the back, probably to the garages and outbuildings, ready to go home for the night. The house loomed larger than life, gables peaked into the clouds and three separate chimneys pierced the night sky. Large beveled windows reflected his SUV’s headlights as he pulled up next to a wide set of stone steps flanked on either side by ornate, carved handrails.
Broken cement steps had marked his childhood, steps that had led to a run-down house owned by his aunt and uncle. They had, he supposed, graciously allowed him a bedroom that was probably less than half the size of Mr. McClarnon’s dressing room. Certainly, finding out she was adopted was a shock to Hannah, but at least she had parents who truly loved her and provided for her exceedingly well. His aunt and uncle had made it abundantly clear that he was a burden, just as Mr. McClarnon had not minced words when he had told Derek he was not worthy of Hannah’s attention.
Derek swiped a hand over his forehead. Tiny beads of perspiration had popped up at the prospect of meeting Mr. McClarnon again. Truly, he’d rather go toe-to-toe with a bank robber than that man. But facing him was unavoidable.
Hannah was out of her side of the Escape before Derek could emerge and come around. Just as they reached the front door, it opened. A man held it wide for them. He was dressed as formally as Derek would have been for the high school prom, if he had ever gone, in a black tie over a starched white dress shirt. A gray vest was buttoned from top to bottom under a black morning coat, and a thin stripe ran down his gray trousers. If memory served, this was the same butler who had ushered him into Mr. McClarnon’s presence nearly a decade ago.
“Good evening, Miss Hannah. Welcome home.”
“Hello, Carson. I assume Mother and Father are in their usual occupations for a Monday evening?”
A sideways glance from the butler crawled over Derek, but he forced himself to stand tall. What kind of FBI agent would he be if he allowed himself to be intimidated?
“Are they not expecting you?”
“Not exactly, but it’s urgent.” She swept past Carson, who stepped back quickly to allow her space. Derek followed, stretching out to the full inch he had over the man. As they hurried down the well-appointed hallway toward the sitting room, he fought to maintain that height. He would need it in the coming moments.
As they walked, he surveyed the area. Despite what little he knew about the home and what was normal for the McClarnons, it didn’t seem that anything was out of order, or that the shooter or his cohorts, whoever they may be, had been around. Still, he knew better than to let his guard down and would continually monitor their surroundings for any potential threat of danger.
Hannah sauntered into the sitting room ahead of him by a few steps, and Derek sniffed the floral perfume of Hannah’s mother and heard her surprised greeting before he made his presence known. When Derek entered, Mr. McClarnon pulled back from a one-armed hug with his daughter, spied him and stiffened, the ice in his crystal glass clinking against the side.
“Evelyn.” He spoke softly to his wife, and she immediately turned from her happy reunion with her daughter.
Mrs. McClarnon ran a hand down her silk skirt and stepped forward, her face masked with the high-society politeness and artificial hospitality of welcoming someone who was beneath their station. She held out her hand. “Derek, isn’t it? Good evening.”
“Ma’am.” Derek crimped her hand, suppressing a grin at the mischievous thought of whether or not he should kiss it.
Hannah’s father cleared his throat, a call to attention. “Well, Mr. Chambers.”
“You remember my name.” A curious look from Hannah skittered around his peripheral vision, but he didn’t make eye contact. He would have some questions to answer, but not yet.
The squeeze on Derek’s hand was tight. A challenge. Derek squeezed back, enough to communicate that he wouldn’t be intimidated but not enough to hurt the older gentleman.
Mr. McClarnon’s eyes burned into Derek’s. “Wish I could say it’s good to see you again, but here you are with my daughter.”
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