Hidden Agendas (7 page)

Emily disconnected the phone seconds later, staring down at it with a frown as she bit at her lower lip.

Thoughts of bad boys and arousal dissipated as worry began to fill her. Her father was worried, worried enough that he wasn't hiding it from her.

Something was wrong, very wrong.

Five minutes later, barely enough time to change from the slouchy clothes into a pair of white Capris and a dove-gray cotton tank, Emily heard a vehicle pulling into the front drive.

Pushing her feet into comfortable sandals, she moved to the door, checking the peephole quickly before opening it for her father.

"Hi, Daddy." Moving back, she watched as he entered and gave her a quick hug.

He was followed by three tall, hard-bodied men, handsome enough to make a girl pant if she hadn't been distracted by the fierce frown on her father's face.

She glanced over the three quickly before closing the door and moving slowly into the living room behind them.

One of the men moved to her sliding door and whipped the heavy shades closed over it before moving to the windows and closing the plastic-backed curtains over them as well.

"Why is he closing my curtains?" She stared at his back. A very fine back. Broad and heavily muscled beneath the white cotton shirt he wore. The broad back tapered to snug jeans. Jeans that did nothing to hide a luscious butt.

"I'm sorry, baby," her father said softly as she turned to him, seeing the heavy lines in his face, the concern in his light blue eyes.

At fifty-five her father was still a fit, handsome man. He had never remarried after her mother's death nearly twenty years before, though she was aware he had certain "friendships."

"What's wrong?" She kept her attention on him as the other three men began moving through the house.

"Look, I know Dyson is pissed. And I know you probably are too. But it was just a little research—"

"Emily, this isn't about the strip club." He shook his head, but she could see the flat line of his mouth, and knew she had disappointed him again.

"It wasn't that big of a deal," she said. "Dyson just gets really intense over things, ya know?"

"Men have a way of doing that." He nodded. "Speeding. Flirting your way out of a ticket while he sat beside you. The strip club, the attempted attack at that dance club a few weeks ago. Sweetheart, I have gray hairs from the report Dyson sent me before I landed."

And why had she ever imagined Dyson wouldn't do it? They all did it when they finally managed to cave to their fear.

"I was safe." She shrugged. "The bodyguards are like ticks. They suck the fun out of everything."

She heard a snort of laughter from one of the men behind her but didn't turn away from her father to glare at whichever one it was.

"Emily. Sit down with me." He took one of her hands and led her to the couch while her heart began to race in terror.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't yelling at her. And that was scary. He had the same expression on his face that he'd had the night he awakened her to tell her that her mother wasn't coming back home. That she would never come home again.

"What's wrong?" She pushed back the instinctive aggression she felt whenever she knew something she didn't like was about to happen. She knew this expression, knew the look in his eyes.

He sat beside her. "Emily," he said. "Fuentes is back, sweetheart, and the information we've received is that he's going to attempt to kidnap you again."

For a moment, darkness nearly overwhelmed her. The scent of rotting vegetation and the stink of unwashed male bodies filled her senses. She had to swallow back the bile and fear, had to force back the overwhelming panic. Shifting memories that weren't quite memories shadowed her mind. Whimpers of pain, betrayal.

As she stared at her father, fighting back that fear, she wondered where the knowledge of betrayal had come from. How did she know they had been betrayed? What had she seen or heard that she couldn't remember once the drugs they had pumped into her had worn off.

"You're certain?" She breathed in deeply, drawing in the fresh scent of vanilla that filled her home.

This was going to be an imposition, no doubt about it. Besides the fact that it was frankly terrifying. She didn't remember much of the kidnapping, but what she did wasn't pleasant.

"We're very certain, Miss Stanton." Tall, black-haired, eyes as gray as thunderclouds, one of the men stepped forward. "The Fuentes cartel is serious about this as well. They seem to think you may have seen or heard something that could threaten them. In addition, your father is determined to catch the Fuentes mole within the government, and Fuentes has to ensure that that doesn't happen."

"Emily, this is Commander Reno Chavez. He's the SEAL in charge of our protection."

"'Hello, Mr. Chavez." She gave him a trembling smile. "I nope you're watching over Daddy well. He can be hard to keep up with."

The man's smile was pure sex appeal. "I'm doing my best, ma'am." He nodded. "He's more worried about you now."

"Behind Reno is Lieutenant Commander Clint McIntyre, and coming out of your bedroom," her father cast the third man a disapproving frown, "you should remember Lieutenant Kell Kreiger."

Emerald-green eyes, predatory and liquid hot, sliced into her as Emily finally gave the man her full attention. She felt the breath leave her chest as shock slammed through her system. Those eyes.

Something about them almost held her mesmerized, sent heat curling through her and had her cringing at the thought that he had been in her bedroom.

Where the red lace underwear was thrown over her bed, the panties carrying the scent of her previous arousal. Mortification flamed beneath her cheeks as she fought to cover her embarrassment.

"Mr. McIntyre. Hello, Kell." She cleared her throat as she fought to swallow past the nerves now rioting through her body.

"Emily. I need you to do me a favor," her father said then, drawing her attention back to him. "Kell will be staying here with you. He'll be your personal bodyguard until this investigation I've begun is over. I need you to cooperate with him."

"I always cooperate, Daddy," she reminded him with a smile. "But I promise, this time, I'll make an extra effort not to cause him to quit. I'd hate to run a friend off."

Oh hell. Damn. She was in trouble. Kell, in her home? Sleeping beneath her roof? She could already feel the overwhelming heat that had begun building in intensity between her thighs. This was the wrong time for this. This wasn't good.

Her father winced. "There's more to this one, sweetheart. No one can know he's your bodyguard. You just fired your bodyguard because your lover was jealous of him."

Oh. Shit.

Her gaze swung back to her father. He was kidding. He had to be kidding.

But he wasn't. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tension emanating from him.

Her eyes swung back to Kreiger and she felt the world drop from beneath her. That mocking smile. She had seen it before. Just as she had seen that particular shaggy cut of hair, that hard, muscular body. No sunglasses now. No leather chaps. And he had shaved that rough, day-old growth of beard from his face. But it was him.

Sweet heaven. She had come in his face less than five hours before and now he was going to pretend to be her lover?

He had disguised who he was. He had to have been following her. It was her fantasy lover all along and she had come in his face.

This was so not good. This was the Twilight Zone. She could hear the theme music playing in the back of her mind.

"This isn't a very good idea." She tried to fight back her shudder of impending pleasure and doom as she turned back from her father. "Why don't I just move back home for a while?"

That was the perfect solution. He had been wanting her back in the house ever since she moved out anyway. She could just go home. She would have to cancel some activities she had planned, put aside the research she still had to get into for the new book.

One being the live sex show she had been playing with viewing. But she was sure her agent would give her some extra time for this book. Most of it was research anyway. It wasn't like she didn't know what to write. She just didn't know how to write it.

But her father was shaking his head slowly. Damn, of course it couldn't be that easy.

"Sweetheart, these people can get to you there as easily as they can here. I'm not even staying at the house. I'm staying in an apartment close to the Capitol instead with my own security detail. This is the only answer."

Oh no. There had to be another answer. There was never only a single way to do anything. Wasn't that what she tried to instill in her students, the ability to try new things in different ways. Of course there was an answer to this, she just had to find it.

"I could move in with you—"

"That's not possible, Emily." Kell's voice was firm, determined. "We need to maintain the impression that the senator knows nothing about this threat for reasons of security. If you come to D.C. and go into hiding, they'll suspect."

She stared back at her nemesis. The bad boy in leather. God, she had to get rid of him. She could already feel her reaction to him blooming once again, heating her body, reminding her of the outrageous dance she had performed for him. Wanton, sexy. Letting the inner slut free hadn't been hard, and she was terribly afraid there was no way to keep it locked up if she had to actually live with him.

"Emily. You can't tell anyone why he's here." Her father sighed heavily, drawing her gaze back to him.

"We have to maintain the secrecy of the information. You have to convince everyone he's your lover."

Emily cringed. He had said it again. Her father had said lover in regard to her and a man? Especially this man.

Wide-eyed, filled with shock, she stared back at him.

His lips twitched in sudden amusement. "I'm not that old, little girl," he told her. "And I'm smart enough to know you likely know what the words mean too."

Like hell. Geeze, how do you tell your father you're still a twenty-five-year-old virgin? Especially when he was constantly sending big tall muscular agents and bodyguards to protect her and, hopefully, inhabit her bed?

She knew why he never sent female bodyguards. Just as she knew that each man he had sent had been personally vetted and handpicked as son-in-law potential.

Think, Emily. There has to be an answer here. No way could she live with a man she was dying to get her hands on. Especially this man. A man she had already dubbed the baddest of the bad boys. A man she knew she could never have yet had never been able to stop wanting.

"I could go stay with Aunt Betha," she said then. "Only the devil himself would dare mess with her."

Betha Alderman was a Boston lawyer with enough temper to scare even her father.

He was shaking his head. Okay, it wouldn't be nice to involve Betha.

"You're serious about this," she said weakly.

"I'm afraid so, baby," he said. "But don't worry, Kell is a professional. This isn't his first private security job. He's protected presidents and foreign nationals. I'm sure he can keep up with you."

Yeah, but how the hell was she supposed to keep up with him? She turned her gaze back to him, fighting to keep from revealing the fact that she had been up close and personal with him in ways she was certain her father would use to force the poor man to the altar.

How was she supposed to get out of this one, now? She couldn't refuse the protection. Her father would never have planned this if he weren't genuinely convinced she was in linger.

"I understand." It was all she could do to push the words past her lips and to paste a friendly smile on her face as she glanced back at Kell Kreiger. "If I remember correctly, he eats a lot though. I'll have to stock up."

Kell smiled. It wasn't a smile for the faint of heart, it was pure male challenge, and that glimmer in those emerald eyes wasn't just amusement, it was heat. Sexual heat. And she was woman enough to shake in her sandals.

"Emily." Her father drew her gaze back to him. "I want you to promise me you'll listen to Kell. No running off on your own for the hell of it. No strip clubs or dance clubs. Promise me you'll let him keep you safe."

She met his gaze straight on, letting him see the suspicion in her eyes that she could feel rising inside her.

She didn't know as much about the armed services as she probably should, she admitted, but some things weren't adding up for her.

"Why are Navy SEALs involved in this instead of the Secret Service?" she finally asked as she rose to her feet and walked to the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen, then turned to face him. "I thought SEALs were a strike force."

"We're that as well," Reno answered her. "We have the most experience with the Fuentes cartel, how they strike, and the men they use to strike with. We're working with the Secret Service in D.C. with your father's security, and there will be two Secret Service agents assigned as backup here. But this is an investigative operation as well as protection, hence the cover story."

That made sense. She knew from the few things she had overheard from her father when she was younger that a SEAL team could follow a single investigation for years. It wasn't a common occurrence, but it happened.

"Since when have I ever lied to you, Emily?" Her father rose from the sofa, a heavy scowl creasing his features as Reno finished his explanation.

"I didn't say you were lying to me, Daddy." She lifted her chin defiantly. "But we both know that you never tell me the whole story or the truth about the danger involved. Nine times out of ten you put those stupid bodyguards in my house based on nothing more than rumors and a hope of keeping me from doing whatever it is you've heard I'm about to do."

She saw the surprise flicker in his gaze then. He thought she was so dimwitted that she had no idea what he was doing.

"You like to get into trouble," he muttered, glancing at the three SEALs with ill concealed discomfort.

She hated that accusation.

"I don't get into trouble, Daddy." Emily kept her voice smooth, even. She didn't want to fight with him.