the office. From the top of his black Stetson that almost scraped the upper edge of the door frame to the toes of his brushed-leather cowboy boots, he was every inch a Texan. He was not—definitely not—the type of sophisticated escort Natalie preferred.
Though his denim jeans and suede jacket might pass for an eccentric fashion statement, the rest of his outfit was over the top. At the throat of his white cotton shirt was a bolo tie with a silver concha that matched the blindingly polished silver in his gigantic belt buckle.
“Howdy, Miss Natalie,” he drawled. “Your daddy tells me you’re going to show me the town. I am much obliged.”
“Hello, Mr. Crawford.” Her brain raced, trying to figure out ways she could dump this assignment. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Call me Quint.” He removed his ridiculous cowboy hat, strode toward her and stuck out his hand. “And the pleasure is all mine.”
When she accepted his handshake, Natalie looked up at him. His brown hair was a little too long and untamed. A dark tan bronzed his features. His startling blue eyes, surrounded by crinkles from the sun, held her gaze. Strangely mesmerized, she saw wide-open skies, unlimited vistas and wildflowers—a breath of fresh air through her sterile corporate existence. His handshake was firm. His large hand engulfed her soft palm, but his touch was gentle and controlled.
She swallowed hard. No way would she allow herself to be interested in a shaggy-haired cowboy.
Her father came out from behind the desk and rested his hand on each of their shoulders. His gesture startled her. It felt as if he was giving them his blessing.
“You two have fun today. All day. That’s an order, Natalie.”
She didn’t mistake his meaning. Natalie would not be allowed to assign the task of sightseeing with Quint to an assistant. According to her father—the CEO of Quantum—this Texan was her problem.
Chapter Two
Before leaving Confidential headquarters, Quint had checked out the blueprints Andy had for the Quantum Building, a post-World War II skyscraper that had been upgraded and renovated several times, creating a security man’s nightmare. If a terrorist planned to hide a bomb within these walls, the options were endless. Thousands of square feet of cubicles, offices, boardrooms, bathrooms, cafeterias, mail rooms, exercise facilities and a parking garage made this structure into a thirty-two-story labyrinth of danger.
Therefore, Quint had decided before he got here that he’d feel safer protecting Natalie on the streets of Chicago—far away from potential threats at Quantum. The way he figured, randomly selected destinations would lessen the opportunity for a planned assault, if, in fact, she was a target for these unnamed terrorists.
After he and Natalie left her father’s office, he trailed her into the elevator. His gaze flicked to the ceiling. The center panel could be easily removed to gain access to the elevator shaft. In spite of security cameras, any of the eight elevators could be considered a possible bomb location.
Disembarking on the twenty-fourth floor where her office was located, she asked, “Is there something special you’d like to see while you’re in Chicago? The stockyards, perhaps?”
“We got steer in Texas, Miss Natalie. While I’m here, I got a hankering to see the sights of your fine city. If you don’t mind.”
“The Art Institute?” she suggested.
Her smooth alto voice held a challenge, as if she wouldn’t expect a cowboy to be interested in an outstanding art collection, but he didn’t take offense. He was undercover. His exaggerated “good old boy” routine was meant to be disarming; nobody would suspect him of being a bodyguard.
Reinforcing her impression that his idea of culture was the local hoedown, he asked, “At the Art Institute, do you suppose they’ve got any of the cows?”
“Cows?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“Y’all had painted cows on the streets for a while. Isn’t that right?”
“Oh yes, the Chicago Cows. Dozens of life-size cow statues with designs by contemporary artists. It was a very successful public display.” She strode down the hall toward her corner office. “But I’m afraid the herd has gone back to the barn.”
Though her tone was professionally cordial, Quint had the impression that she’d be thrilled if he, too, would retire to the hayloft and leave her alone. “Too bad,” he said.
“After I check in with my secretary,” she said, “I have a lunch date with an old friend from boarding school. I should make other arrangements for you. I’m sure you’d be bored to death with our girl talk.”
“Don’t inconvenience yourself.” Quint already knew about the lunch date. Natalie’s school friend was none other than Whitney MacNair Romeo. “I’ll tag along with you ladies.”
When she hesitated, probably trying to come up with another excuse to dump him, Quint added, “Your daddy told me you got real good steak in Chicago.”
Her father was the only person at Quantum who knew the nature of Quint’s assignment, and Henry Van Buren was relieved to have a bodyguard for his headstrong daughter. The mention of his name had the desired effect on Natalie; she wouldn’t disobey direct orders from the Quantum CEO.
With an icy smile, she said, “Of course, you’re welcome to lunch with us.”
Entering the outer office, Natalie tossed off a casual introduction of Quint and her executive secretary, Maria Luisa Moreno.
But he wasn’t so cavalier. He’d been raised by his grandma from Alabama, who insisted on good manners and Southern hospitality. He shook the secretary’s hand and looked straight into her dark pretty eyes. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Maria Luisa. I’m a supplier for Quantum, visiting for a few days from Texas.”
The slender black-haired woman sized him up in a glance, then she smiled, slow and sultry. “I would’ve guessed Texas.”
“I reckon the Stetson is a dead giveaway.” He sensed her approval and felt gratified by her warmth. It didn’t hurt to have Natalie’s secretary on his side. “I used to have a girlfriend named Mary Lou. Mind if I call you that?”
Her sooty eyelashes lowered seductively. “For you, I’ll be Mary Lou. And you can call me anytime—”
“Maria Luisa.” Natalie interrupted their flirtation. “Was there anything important in the mail?”
“Not really.” She released Quint’s hand and resumed a professional pose. “When I came in, there was another of those hand-addressed envelopes marked Personal. I left it unopened on your desk.”
Quint was immediately alert. Where there were threats and a bombing, mysterious envelopes raised a red flag. He strode into the office behind Natalie, but he beat her to the desk and snatched the padded brown envelope before she had a chance to touch it.
“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”
Obviously irritated, she reached for the package. “If you don’t mind, I can handle my own mail.”
Not if it’s a letter bomb. “I
