Secure Desire Read online

  She whimpered and cried, but there were no tears. “My tummy hurts.”

  Tucker placed a small oxygen mask on her face. “This will make it easier to breathe.” Steamy spray filled her lungs.

  She saw the needle in Tucker’s hand and climbed into Kieran’s arms. “No!”

  Martin almost flew over the seat, ready to intervene. “Angel, Tuck wants to help you.” Kieran tried to calm her.

  Tucker took a deep breath. “Susie, let’s play a game. Kieran is going to hold up his finger. When I say three, I want you to blow on it like it’s a big birthday candle.”

  “Sally can help us. Just look at me, angel.” Kieran held up her doll and his finger.

  “Count with us,” Martin said.

  Susie never felt the stick. Fluid and medicine flowed into her depleted body. Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to the Children’s Hospital.

  Ian tipped back in his chair, removed the headset, and heaved a sigh of relief. Susie was safe. The team accomplished its goal. Rubbing the back of his neck, he knew he would feel more settled once he received news from the hospital.

  On a secure line, he dialed the supervisory special agent in charge at the field office in New Orleans. The not-so-warm-and-friendly conversation did not surprise him. Notifying Kieran to be prepared for FBI company, he faxed them the evidence trail that led them to her. Sore, territorial feelings never factored in for him, especially when it involved the safety of a child.

  Monique Lillie Chase sauntered into the control room. The black Chanel pantsuit clung to every curve of his exotic French sister-in-law’s model body. “Bonjour, my favorite brother-in-law.”

  “I’m your only brother-in-law.” Ian smiled at his brother’s charming, black-haired, blue-eyed wife, whom Kieran met when she was the target of a stalker and, her management company hired Chase Security for protection. For Kieran, it was love and stupidity at first sight. She fit in the family business perfectly with a command of French, Italian, and German as well as an economics and management degree from Aix-Marseille Université.

  “What’s up, Monique?”

  She flopped into one of the chairs beside him. “Darling, Kieran called me. He isn’t gonna make it back from Louisiana until late tonight. He insists on setting up the Tanners’ new security plan.”

  “You know Kieran has a protective streak a mile wide. Susie got to him.”

  “Well, that streak brings me to you. We have tickets tonight to a charity fundraiser at the Four Seasons. I want to go. It’s supposed to be a fun crowd, but he won’t let me go without an escort.” She pressed out her full bottom lip in the pout that always made Kieran heed. Ian was amused. “I love Colby, but he’s still in diapers.” Monique referred to her twenty-seven-year-old bodyguard. “Will you take me, please?”

  Ian laughed at her petulant tone. “I’m sure Cowboy would love to hear about his undergarments. Kieran hates these things and somehow always manages to get out of them. I swear he planned this. What am I raising funds for now, gorgeous?”

  She rubbed her brow. “It’s actually something you might want to contribute to. It’s Helping Hearts, a domestic violence prevention charity. Please, Ian?”

  Ian’s lips twitched. She was a perfect foil for his caveman brother. “What time?”

  Monique took to her feet with the stunning grace he was accustomed to seeing. “Cocktails at six.” She placed a soft kiss on each of Ian’s cheeks.

  The gala made him think about how perfect Cassie would be on his arm.

  Chapter Five

  Late that afternoon, Ian stepped into his tuxedo pants, and his Bluetooth was placed in his ear. Meanwhile, Kieran remained stalled in the Louisiana hospital. “Susie won’t let anyone come near her without Tuck or me in the room—not even her mom or dad. We are working on making her feel safe. Bro, Hanlon is amazing. The ER doc said he made the difference. We need to offer him steady work. I don’t want him going anywhere else.”

  “Hire him.” Ian took a breath. “Was she—”

  Kieran answered before the question was out of his mouth. “No, no evidence of sexual assault. This was all about the money.”

  After discussing the operational particulars, they discussed the night’s charity event. “Fifty thousand a plate?” Ian asked. “Trying to get in Monique’s good graces? You hate these things.”

  “And you love them, the Billionaire Beltway Bachelor. Hell, you might have fun for a change. Fun—you remember that word?”

  Ian thought about Cassie. “Fun? Washington society, pandering politicians, actors and actresses, and sports figures who get dressed up to be the style star in the latest magazine edition. And the paparazzi make news out of nothing. All that cocktail party banter.”

  “You banter better than me, Big Brother.”

  “I prefer anonymous donations.” After speaking to Monique and pulling up the charity’s prospectus, Ian made a sizable contribution.

  “You might meet a nice girl. Hey? What about that FBI agent?”

  “Have you been talking to Mom? And Cassie is none of your business,” Ian warned.

  “Cassie, huh? This sounds promising.”

  “We should eat well. It better not be rubbery chicken.”

  “Take care of my wife.”

  “No worries there. I’ll protect Monique with my life. You know that.”

  In a hotel room used for her cover, water sluiced between her breasts as she closed her eyes to let it all go. She scrubbed the loofah across her skin, trying to remove her rough edges. Cassiopeia Ellis died in a bathtub six years ago.

  Tonight is make-believe.

  She was no longer the millionaire, society princess, the Ellis Legacy, the CEO of Ellis Art Finds. Cassie had made it back from two tragedies. She was the Ice Princess—Special Agent Cassie Modine of the FBI.

  The razor slid over her legs. She recalled the conversation she was summoned to alone with Greg Wilds in his office late Tuesday afternoon. She made sure to stand between him and the door. He wanted to discuss some of the operation particulars.

  Cassie was relieved two of the assigned table occupants, Phyllis Wilson and her date, Robby Bynum, were no longer attending. She’d grown up with both. It would be awkward enough knowing other occupants, Betty Bynum and the Marshalls. Wilds all but said he thought she was a liability.

  “How dare you think that? I take my oath seriously.” Cassie spat the words at him.

  “I don’t care if it hurts your precious feelings; we have a job to do. The man is a United States senator. It is our job to make sure these nut jobs don’t kill him. Terrorism is terrorism. You need to be on top of this. No mistakes.”

  “If you thought I wouldn’t be able to do this job, why did you approve my transfer?”

  “It’s too late now, Princess. We need you to blend in. He cannot know you’re FBI. Pretend you’re a sexy, intelligent socialite. Use your considerable assets and get in his good graces. Stay close. Hell, if you have to, get on your knees under the table. Put on a pretty dress. You have a party dress, don’t you?”

  “I’m sure I can pull together an outfit.” He missed her sarcasm.

  “It’ll be good for you, Cassie. His aide is filling the second seat. It will be like a date. You know what that is?”

  She scowled at him. “Yes, sir.” She stuffed her hatred for Wilds down as far as she could. She wasn’t going to let him distract her from her job. One more day. Cassie rinsed her body under the spray one last time.

  The woman standing in front of the bathroom mirror wrapped in a fluffy white towel was a stranger. The life of attending charity parties was gone like the water down the drain. Cassie missed those nights with her family. She loved the people and the fashions. Once she was old enough to understand it was more than looking pretty, she saw the real beauty from their philanthropy. Those graces of goodness were destroyed on a warm May night six years ago.

  She wiped the fog from the mirror. Streaks of steam morphed into whorls of cigarette smoke as visions bombar
ded her.

  “You ruined everything.”

  The hateful female voice. “She knows too much.”

  Someone holding her hand.

  Russian words. “You will be a good whore, Cassiopeia.”

  A car. The smells of stale beer, sweat, clove cigarettes, and Clive Christian cologne. Hands dragging her. Hands touching her. Other voices laughing.

  Voices calling her horrible names. “Whore. Slut. All used up, Cassiopeia.” Colors exploded behind her eyes. The violation. The painful bites.

  She dropped the towel. Her fingers ran over some of the white scars as the conversation with Garett echoed through her mind. “I can’t do this, Cassie. You’re soiled goods.”

  Cassie turned to the toilet behind her. Dropping to her knees, she threw up. Her cheek rested against the cold tile while the tears she thought were dried long ago poured again.

  Uncertainty was amplified by the lack of sleep from the nightmares she was having. If they weren’t about that night, Greg Wilds and his behavior, they were about her feelings for Ian Chase. He was everything she wanted in a man: smart, caring, funny, sweet, honorable, and handsome. She enjoyed their evening together too much. Their brief kiss branded her. Was it fair to him to let herself fall for him?

  That morning, while on the phone with her Aunt Rachel, she received an enormous bouquet filled with spring flowers—not a rose in sight. How did he know? She told her about their meal, regaling Rachel with some of the tabloid stories.

  “Sweet pea, maybe it’s time to try again,” Aunt Rachel said.

  “When I get back to my unit, maybe I will take him up on his offer for another dinner?”

  Aunt Rachel was right, but her nagging inner voice wouldn’t shut up. Soiled goods.

  She awakened on the bathroom floor fifteen minutes later, then reached into her reserves, brushed her teeth, and put the finishing touches on her makeup. It’s up to you, Cass. You’re on your own.

  In her previous session with her therapist, she thought she had things under control. On Monday, she had another appointment scheduled with Stephanie. “A tune-up. I just need a tune-up.”

  She placed her mother’s ruby teardrop earrings into her ears and added one final little touch: the nearly invisible earpiece relaying a constant squawk of noise from the perspective of her fellow FBI agents stationed throughout the room. Game face. She used the same concentration she needed to fire a rifle. Taking a deep breath, holding it three counts, and exhaling, she slid the particular holster up her right leg to hide the Glock 27.

  “Haute couture of holsters. The men don’t have this damn problem.” She chuckled, sounding more frantic than amused.

  Her feet slipped into the crystal four-inch Manolo Blahnik strappy heels. Ensuring everything was in place, she grabbed her pale rose dress off the hanger. “Choke on this, Wilds.” The Stella McCartney designer gown with racer back complimented her complexion. The illusion panels gave an impression of exposed skin but kept her scars covered. The slit up the left side ended at the top of her thigh.

  A full twirl in the mirror assured her no one could see her gun. Her hair was tied into an elegant chignon. The look was subtle and stylish. She grabbed the Judith Leiber crystal clutch and waited for the signal to meet up with her team for the evening. Bynum would never make her as an FBI agent.

  Chapter Six

  Lines of limos discharged their well-heeled occupants in front of the Four Seasons. Twelve blocks from the White House, the five-star luxury hotel was the site of the Helping Hearts fundraising gala.

  Ian moved around to the curbside door and escorted Monique into the waiting crowd. Photographers snapped pictures as they called out their names. Ian whispered, “We’re going to start rumors tonight. It’ll be all about Monique Lillie Chase chasing the other brother.”

  “Kieran is going to love it, darling.” She wrapped her hand around his bicep and put on her best professional smile as the cameras whirred.

  Monique air-kissed their way around the cocktail soirée while Ian shook hands and made small talk. As they moved about, his eyes scanned and assessed the growing crowd. Looking around the large, packed room, he chuckled to himself, spotting the attempting-to-be discreet security details, including men from two competing agencies. The three Chase Security personnel present blended in well with their clients. One was protecting a basketball player; one was with an up-and-coming actress, and one was with the widow of a retired senator.

  Colby and Jason watched their personal targets at a comfortable distance. Both men appeared a far cry from what they were present to do.

  “What a multi-jurisdictional Charlie Foxtrot,” Ian whispered into Monique’s ear, military slang for clusterfuck.

  Monique chuckled, leaning back into Ian’s ear, appearing to anyone watching like she was nuzzling him. The paparazzi went crazy. Camera phones flashed.

  “You’re such a bad girl, Monique.” Ian wrapped his arm around her waist.

  “And you love every minute of this. Relax, darling. You’re not on the clock. It’s time for us to play.” Monique ran a finger down his cheek.

  When Greg Wilds rapped on Cassie’s hotel door three times, she took one more deep breath. “You clean up nice, Modine…or should I say, Dr. Ellis?” His eyes feasted on her. Without a hint of warning, he pulled her to him. “We will finish what’s between us tonight. You’re beautiful—wouldn’t want to waste the room.”

  Cassie pushed him away. “Stop. We have a job to do. What’s the ETA for the senator?”

  He looked down at her feet. “How do you walk in those things? Bynum is en route. Are you ready?”

  Cassie opened her clutch to extend the jeweled strap. He wrapped his arm around her waist—with a glancing touch to her bottom as they walked. She tripped on purpose, jamming a heel into the top of his foot. “Oops.”

  He bit back a curse. “Turn on your earwig, Princess.”

  She wasn’t going to take his bait. The comlinks were recorded. Make it through the job.

  Five tuxedo-clad men stepped out of the elevator. “Galloway checking in.”

  Cassie heard his voice in her ear. “Thanks, Preston.”

  “Got you, Cass. Have fun tonight,” Brice replied.

  “Looking good, Cass,” Vincent Cruz said.

  Quinn Marcus and Hector Villanueva followed. Cassie’s expression cleared, and the ice princess veneer reappeared.

  During the long cocktail hour, she waited for the arrival of the Bynums. Cassie circled the room, making her best impression of a bobblehead, Wilds always at her side. She recognized and was recognized by some of the crowd. The art of polite party small talk came back to her like riding a bike.

  With every smile and air kiss, Wilds stiffened. “Seems you are very popular, Dr. Ellis. You will tell me why you changed your name to Modine tonight.” Wilds nuzzled her ear.

  Cassie gritted her teeth in anger. Sophie was right: she knew better. She hoped once the job went live, Wilds would stop his bullying. “I will do nothing of the sort. I have an email scheduled to send up the chain the minute this assignment is complete documenting your inappropriate behavior. We have a job to do. I’ll hold up my end. Can you hold up yours? Touch me again, and I’ll shoot your balls off.”

  At the close of the cocktail hour, she spoke into her glass of sparkling water. “How many armed private security do we have? I count thirteen.”

  “Right on the number. The Bynums are moving through the dining area. All yours,” Quinn announced. She proceeded to join the senator and his wife.

  The large round table was situated in a place of honor in the room. Cassie noticed the Bynums and the Marshalls seated with a man with brown wavy hair and dark brown eyes. She recognized him from the briefings as the senator’s aide. Sebastian Ames was not unattractive, but the closer she got to the table, the more uneasy she felt. Was it his thin lips turning up into a kind of fake smile? Or was it the look in his eyes that chilled her to the bone?

  As she neared the empty seat besid
e Senator Bynum, Sebastian ran his fingers down her back as he pulled her chair out. His touch made her skin crawl. She shrugged, hoping to send him a discreet message. “Hi, I’m Seb.”

  “I’m Cassie Ellis, pleased to meet you.”

  “Cassie… we met years ago at Houseman’s.”

  “I’m sorry, Seb. Please forgive me. I have a terrible memory, but I’m pleased to meet you again.” Cassie gave her practiced smile. Sebastian looked annoyed, but she had other things to do and didn’t give it a second thought.

  “Senator’s press aide, a lawyer.” Hector’s voice in her ear reminded her of his file’s particulars.

  Superior Court Judge Alexander Marshall and his wife walked around the table to greet her. “Cassiopeia, my goodness, it’s been such a long time.” Claudia Marshall air-kissed her cheek.

  “Judge and wife. Conservative. Wife owns a children’s clothing boutique in Union Square,” Hector continued. Cassie almost missed her colleague's words.

  The four adults walking toward the table were not anywhere on the briefing list. They weren’t even listed on the attendees list. Cassie’s heart hammered in her chest, and she was sure everyone around her could hear it. Drowning. She was drowning. She pinched her wrist hard, hoping the pain would break the panic threatening to overtake her.

  Bradford Whitman, Garett Whitman and, their wives advanced toward the table. “Whitman family. Lobbyists and lawyers. Older Whitman, political adviser to Bynum. Married to Adrienne, homemaker. Son following in his father’s footsteps. Married Cheyenne, stay-at-home mom,” Hector announced.

  Cassie counted two more empty seats at the table. Expecting a congressman from Virginia and his wife, she bit her lip when Ian and Monique Chase joined them. “Ian Chase, ex-SEAL, billionaire, venture capitalist, playboy,” Quinn stated.