Isabella, had given up a child twenty-seven years ago. He had no idea who the father could be.”
“And he’s sure Isabella’s baby is you?”
She nodded. “So he claims. I asked about DNA testing to be sure, but Mr. Paladin said they have conclusive evidence already.”
“The not-so-random break-in. They were after your DNA.”
“Mr. Maddox hired a private investigator to find me. I guess he wanted to be sure of who I was before he reported back.” Her anxious expression tore at him. “But what’s more troubling is the other thing I found in my research—Isabella Maddox was murdered.”
His gut clenched. “Was her killer brought to justice?”
Her mouth twisted in an aggravated frown. “I don’t have any details. The newspaper articles I found didn’t mention any trial, and Mr. Paladin wouldn’t give me any further information about her when I tried to ask. He only wanted to talk about the new will Mr. Maddox had drawn up. He said in order for me to secure a place in Elijah Maddox’s estate I must go to Mississippi and stay with the Maddox family from Christmas Eve through New Year’s.”
“They can’t legally compel you to do this.” Wariness took hold. “Why would they want you to come there? And why specifically those dates?”
“He wouldn’t say, only that it was important that I do.”
Ridiculous. “You’re not thinking of going.”
A determined light entered her tawny-colored gaze. “I have to.” Her expression implored him to understand. “Not for the money, though. I’ve been looking for my birth parents since I was eighteen. I need to know who these people are and what happened to my birth mother. Besides, I wouldn’t be any safer staying here. My apartment door is proof enough of that.” She touched his scarred hand. “Will you take me on as a client and accompany me?”
As she waited for an answer, he hesitated as a firestorm of sensation raced up his arm. He cleared his throat. “Trent Associates can help you.”
Relief swept across her face. “I knew I made the right decision contacting you after all you did to keep Kristina safe.”
He’d been protecting socialite Kristina Worthington when he’d met Caroline in the course of his assignment. The two women were good friends. “Nice of you to think of me.”
The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile. Her gaze caressed his face, filling him with a fierce compulsion to gather her into his arms.
Uh-oh. He was pulling a Carlucci. He inhaled sharply, reining in his attraction. Not going to happen. Don was a professional. He played by the rules. Because doing so was the only way to guarantee any amount of success.
A few months back Trent had hired ex-Secret Service agent Anthony Carlucci. But during his first assignment—protecting the widow of a murdered U.S. senator—the guy up and fell in love with his protectee. As soon as she was safe, he’d proposed, and decided to go to work for the Department of Justice. Don’s boss, James Trent, had declared this a good thing for Trent Associates. Now they had a trusted contact in the D.O.J. to call on when needed.
Maybe.
But in Don’s book, Carlucci had crossed the line. He should have bowed out of the assignment the second he realized his feelings had turned personal. That would have been the right thing, the honorable thing, to do.
The second most important Rule of Protection—don’t get emotionally involved with clients. Doing so impaired judgment and put everyone involved in danger.
If he was already so easily distracted by Caroline then it was time for reinforcements.
“Stay here.” He rose from the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”
Don hustled upstairs and knocked on his boss’s door.
“Enter,” came James Trent’s muffled invitation.
Don stepped inside the large office. Natural light from the high, arched windows gleamed on the mahogany floor. James sat at his massive desk. Wiry and full of energy, he smiled and waved Don closer.
Rather than sit in the chair facing the desk, Don paced and quickly detailed Caroline’s predicament.
James steepled his hands, his elbows resting on the desk, making Don feel like an errant teen facing the principal.
“So what is your plan?”
Don cleared his throat and hardened his resolve. “Actually, sir, I was thinking it would be better if Simone or Jackie were assigned to Ms. Tully.”
Simone Walker was an ex-homicide detective for the Detroit Police Department, while Jackie Blain had been a deputy sheriff for some small Midwest town before moving to Boston and joining Trent Associates.
A crease appeared between James’s eyebrows. “Really? Why is that?”
Don hooked a finger in the collar of his gray sweater, needing a bit of the cold December air. “Their law-enforcement backgrounds would be useful in this situation.”
“If Ms. Tully wants a full-scale investigation she needs to go to the police or hire a private investigator,” James said.
“She’s already been to the police. What she wants now is protection on her trip to Mississippi.”
“Then you sound perfect for the job.”
The only way to arrange the best protection for Caroline was to be straightforward with James. “I have a prior history with Ms. Tully.”
“Oh?” James’s gaze narrowed, belying the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “Do tell.”
“I met Ms. Tully last year while on assignment guarding Kristina Worthington. The two are close friends.”
“And?”
“There was…attraction.” She’d been the first woman in a long time to capture Don’s notice and make him yearn for something he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to have—a committed relationship.
“How long did you date?”
Don dropped his chin and stared at his boss. “She was part of an assignment, sir. We didn’t date.”
Though she’d given off signals suggesting she’d have been receptive to his attention.
“Ah.” A gleam entered James eyes. “Did she ask for you specifically today, or did you draw the short straw?”
Don swallowed, sensing a trap. “She asked for me, sir.”
Like a Cheshire cat, James smiled. “Then you’ll have to figure out how to put your personal attraction and feelings aside, because she obviously trusts you enough to ask for your help.”
“But, sir, she needs twenty-four-hour protection. I’m not a good fit for that.” Even as the words left his mouth he knew James would see through the bogus excuse. He’d provided around-the-clock
