Chapter 1

 

New Year’s Eve

 

Max Blackwell answered the door right away. He must be anxious, too. Good thing, because Whitney Dwyer was about to make the biggest move of her life.

“Hey, Whitney. Come on in.”

Huh. He usually greeted her with a sexist term like doll or sweetie or babe, which he’d initially used to needle her. But the terms had become endearments over the years they’d been together. Yet…now that she got a good look at him, he seemed tired. Lines around his mouth suggested maybe the expression was more one of worry.

Thankfully, she could always be herself with him. Once inside, she faced him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” She threw herself into his arms. He smelled great, like the woods and outdoors. She hugged him tight. In the past when she did that, he’d lift her up, twirl her around and kiss her senseless. This time he only held on.

So she’d take matters into her own hands. She pulled his head down. But he resisted. Instead of giving her one of his searing kisses, he grasped her arms and stepped back. “Don’t, honey. We have to talk.”

Dread she’d known more times than she cared to acknowledge shot through her. The feeling was exacerbated by how well she knew this man. “Something is wrong.”

He held her hands in his. “No, not wrong. Different.”

She didn’t respond.

Still holding onto her, he led her out of the foyer and into the main living space off to the right. She took a seat on one of his dark leather sofas. Because he was acting strangely, she was glad he dropped down close to her. Something made her wait for him to start.

He glanced over her shoulder for a minute before he looked at her. “Things have changed for me, Whitney. I think this has been coming for a while.”

“Changed how? Professionally or personally?”

He cleared his throat. “Personally.”

Kernels of information formed in her brain. Past talks…

Does this arrangement suit you, Whitney? Between you and me?

Yeah, sure. It’s the best. You?

Well, I’m ten years older than you are. Sometimes, I think about where I’ll end up when we split.

I never think about us splitting.

Ah, so like you.

So don’t you think about it, either…

She gripped his fingers. “Tell me straight, Max.” The tremor in her voice annoyed her, but she was scared now.

“Fair enough. I want to settle down and have kids.”

“Kids?” She never expected this. “You said that wasn’t in the cards for you.”

“I hadn’t even turned forty when we started working together. I wasn’t thinking about growing older.”

Oh, my God. “And now you are?”

“Yes.” His expression became incredibly sad, making her heart clutch in her chest. “I’ve found someone else I think I can build a future with.”

“What?”

“I’ve met another woman.” His face reddened as if he knew he’d done something wrong.

This couldn’t be, yet… “Angela Grimes.”

Dark brows rose. “How did you know?”

The expression on Angela’s face when she sat gazing up at Max in the classroom that day at Rowley. How she answered his phone the night over Thanksgiving break, when Max hadn’t come to the Marino Thanksgiving. And where had he gone Christmas Eve when they’d all been invited to the White House party?

“Whitney, I asked how you knew.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”

A horrible thought sliced through her. “H-have you slept with her?”

“No! You and I promised each other we’d be excusive while we were together.”

“And now you want to end our relationship?”

“As it’s been, yes. I want more in my life.”

God, the irony of all this. She thought of the advice her cousin Connor had given to her over Thanksgiving. To go to him. To tell him what she’d discovered about her feelings for him. Unfortunately, Max had gotten an assignment with the CIA out of town for the two weeks right before the next holiday, so she had to wait. Then he’d gone away with his father after Christmas and hadn’t come back until today. Apparently, she was too late.

She tried to erect the infamous Secret Service armor she used to protect herself with. But instead, she was defenseless.

“Whit, we’ll still be friends.”

“You know that won’t happen.” She gripped his hand now. “We spend all our free time together, in bed, going on vacation, to movies and concerts.”

“We’ll still see each other. I promise.”

Deep in her heart Whitney knew that wouldn’t happen. “I don’t understand, Max. How could you make this life-changing decision unilaterally? Without consulting me?”

“I didn’t want to put you on the spot.”

“For what?”

“Committing to something you don’t want.” His words were harsh, as if he were defending himself.

“I should have had a choice.”

Challenge always incited him. She could see the anger flare in his eyes. “All right. Are you ready to get married and have a baby?”

She rose and she crossed to the window. It had started snowing harder, and flakes gathered on the window. She thought about his question. Was she ready? After a long time, she turned to him and folded her arms over her chest. “No, Max, I’m not ready to get married now, or ever have family. But I’ve had an epiphany over the last month. I know one thing. I’m in love with you.”

“I love you, too, but that’s not enough.”

“I said I was in love with you. Romantically.”

He watched her. She hadn’t realized how her life could change in an instant. When he stood, she stepped back.

“I’m sorry, babe, that’s not enough. I’m not sure it’s even true. Whenever we’re apart for a while, you always miss me, want to be closer to me. I feel the same. Marrying me and having my child is a whole different ballgame.” He arched a brow. “One I don’t think you want to play in.”

o0o

She left.

Max stood staring at the door. He hadn’t expected her reaction.

What did you expect, idiot?

A sane conversation. Understanding. Good wishes.

Like I said, you’re an idiot.

She’d been devastated. He knew her so well and saw right away what he’d done to her. It just about killed him. He’d loved Whitney Dwyer for three years, more than any woman he’d ever loved in his life. When he was married in his twenties, he and Jill had both been high on their respective careers, the hot sex they’d had between them, the fast-paced life they established in D.C. But soon they’d outgrown all that and found they had little in common.

He had a lot in common with Whitney.

He couldn’t control the question that popped into his mind: had he made the wrong decision? He’d had romantic feelings, as she’d called them, for a while now. Should he have told her? Should he have waited for her to be ready for that, like she said she was tonight, and hoped she’d change her mind about the rest?

“No, I’m not going to do this.” He’d made a decision, and he’d followed through with it. Hurting her like he had couldn’t be for nothing!

Restless and out of sorts, he did something he knew wasn’t in his best interest. He crossed to the kitchen and fished out cigarettes and a lighter from the drawer. He rarely smoked, but sometimes, after a harrowing experience in their jobs, he and Whitney shared one out on the patio.

He slid open the glass doors with a whoosh and stepped outside. The freezing cold stung his face. He pulled up the hood of his Cornell sweatshirt. Maybe the chill would knock some sense into him. He’d done the right thing. After lighting the cigarette and taking a puff, images of her face, her shock, swam before him. Closing his eyes, he tried to summon something else, but she wouldn’t go away. He finished the cigarette and went back into the house. He’d take a shower. Go to bed and forget tonight until he had to deal with what he’d done tomorrow.

On the way to his bedroom, his phone buzzed. Maybe it was Whitney. He looked down. A text.

From Angela Grimes. She’d given him a month to decide what to do about Whitney. During that time, they’d both been out of town for a couple of weeks on separate assignments. But she’d told him last night she wouldn’t wait any longer.

He glanced at the text. How did it go? Call me.

Oh, God, that made him feel more like a heel. That he’d shared with Angie what he was going to do to Whitney, the woman who’d been his best friend and pretty much the center of personal life for years.

o0o

Shaking like a sapling in the wind, Whitney pulled the car over to the side of the road at the end of Max’s street and turned off the engine. Burying her face in her hands, she allowed the acute sense of loss to surface. But she wouldn’t cry. She hadn’t cried since her parents were killed. But she couldn’t block the pain caused by a man who’d chosen another woman over her. Oh no, she felt the familiar roil in her stomach. Shit. Bolting out of the car, she vomited on the side of the road. When she was done, she got back in her vehicle and slammed the door. Damn!

Could he have been any more condescending? He’d treated her like a child. She told him she loved him, as a woman loved a man, and he rejected her outright. Implied she didn’t know her own mind. She wished she hadn’t revealed how she felt. She wished she could have simply accepted what he’d said, kissed him on the cheek and walked out like a sophisticated woman.

It took her only a minute to realize none of that was true. She’d promised Connor she’d tell Max everything and she had. No keeping secrets. She’d fought for him, and it didn’t work out.

You call that fighting for someone?

Well, yeah, she did.

You could have refused what he said. Insist he give you another chance.

But even as she told herself to march back into his condo and demand he stay with her, she knew she couldn’t do that. Because one stark fact remained. It wouldn’t have been fair. Whitney could have married him, but she would never, ever have a child.

o0o

On Monday morning, feeling like crap, Max entered the Secret Service building on H Street. The low rise, nine-story structure was unmarked because officials didn’t want to advertise the headquarters’ whereabouts. A little-known fact was that during 9/11, this was where the First Lady was taken. The place was huge, too, with armories and command centers that housed thousands of agents and various branches of the organization.

And why the hell was he thinking about the makeup of the place where he worked? He knew the answer even before he completed the query in his mind: To avoid the stark fact that he’d have to face Whitney today. He hoped she’d come in to work. He hoped she was okay.

You asshole. You know she won’t be okay.

He hadn’t talked to anybody over the weekend. Not even John Blackwell, Sr., who was his best friend. His mother had died when Max, John Blackwell, Jr., was five and his university-professor father had stepped in to fill the role of both parents. Consequently, they were close. Now he remembered telling his dad about his plans for himself and Angie…

“Do you think that’s a good idea, son?”

“I want more out of life, Dad.”

“Do you love Angela Grimes? Because if you do, then you have my blessing.”

“I…don’t.”

“Why then?”

“I want a baby and a marriage. I never did before, but I’m forty-five, and it’s time.”

“How does she feel about being a baby machine and a surrogate for Whitney?”

The words wounded him. “That’s mean, Dad.”

“I have to tell you the truth. I don’t think this is the right way to go about getting what you want.”

Max left hurriedly. He didn’t want to hear anymore…

Once he entered the threat-assessment offices, he bypassed the receptionist and walked through the desks and cubicles in front of a huge bank of computers to her office, which was off to the side. No sense in delaying this. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work if he didn’t see her.

She stood at a filing cabinet, her back to him. The long lean lines of her body were evident in the dark pants she wore with a white blouse that tapered at the waist. Whitney was in good shape.

He knocked and she turned. He could tell nothing from her face today. She’d pulled her hair half up, like she did sometimes, and wore small silver earrings. No makeup, though.

“Can I come in?”

Taking in a deep breath, she folded her arms over her chest. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

No evidence of how she was feeling in her voice, either. Of course, all agents were trained to hide their emotions. To wear the Secret Service mask. “Please, Whitney.”

She shrugged, so he stepped inside and closed the door. Leaned against it. She took a seat behind her desk, a classic distancing maneuver.

“Are you all right today?”

A flicker of pain in those Irish blue eyes. “I’m handling this.”

“You haven’t lost me, honey.”

She bit her lip. At the endearment? Use of it was second nature for him. “Please, don’t call me that.”

Frustrated, he ran his hand through his hair. “We have to talk.”

A brief flash of panic on her face. “No, I can’t. Don’t ask me to listen to why you picked another woman again.”

“I never thought I’d hurt you like this.”

The look of incredulity came fast. “What did you think I’d do? Say, ‘oh, okay, I’ll let you go. Have a nice life?’”

“That’s what we agreed on.”

“If you believed I could be that cavalier about our relationship, I guess you don’t know me as well as you thought you did.” Her tone wasn’t angry. It held a note of defeat.

“I know everything about you, as you do me.”

She braced her arms on the desk but didn’t respond.

So he plowed ahead. “You guessed it was Angie.”

Another deeper flicker of pain. Briefly, she told him about Thanksgiving, the phone call, and holiday events he missed.

“I guess my actions were insensitive.”

“They were. As I said last night, I should have had a choice in all this. You should have told me when you first started to have these feelings about changing your life. But again, it’s hurtful to rehash this today. So please leave.”

Instead, he crossed to her. Circled the desk. Swirled her chair around and drew her out of the chair. Startled, she went easily. Though she resisted his pulling her to into his chest—for a few seconds. Then she cuddled in as she always used to. His hand went to her hair. “Damn it, Whitney, I want you in my life.”

Even as she clung to him, clutched his shirt, she said, “I can’t be anymore. Go to Angela. Get what you need from her.”

At the knock on her door, she stepped back. Straightened. “Come in.”

“I’m glad you’re both back.” Drew Michener, their immediate boss, stood at the doorway. “We have a briefing after lunch. Something’s happened in Virginia and you two may have to go. In my office at one.”

o0o

Come on, God.

Whitney hadn’t thought the situation with Max could get any worse. She didn’t want to be with him, talk to him and face head-on all she’d lost in a few short minutes on New Year’s Eve. The only thing that had kept her sane all weekend were her talks with Connor. He’d been available, even offered to fly down to be with her when he heard she’d been sick to her stomach. Which happened every time she was upset about something personal.

She needed to get a grip on this situation. Still staring at the door, she heard behind her, “It looks like you aren’t going to be able to ditch me quite so fast.”

Jesus. Was he really that obtuse?

“Can we at least sit down and talk?”

She pivoted slowly. “Aren’t you listening to me?” She felt the emotion well behind her eyes again. And quelled the damn moisture fiercely. “It hurts too much to be with you now.”

“Maybe I can make that better. We can discuss the new dimensions of our relationship. Find ways to keep it going. Stay in touch. Spend time together.”

She wanted to strike out at him. Make him hurt like she hurt. But in the end, she couldn’t. She truly did love him. “I’ve already figured out the dimensions of this relationship. I’ll have to work with you until I can get a transfer or at least a new partner. But that’s all. You’re not to talk about our relationship or my family or what I’m doing.”

“I can’t operate that way. I’ve been in your life for years.”

“You have no choice in this part, Max, like I had no choice in your decision. None at all.”

o0o

Max glanced up when Angela Grimes entered the café on the ground floor of the Secret Service Building. They’d agreed to meet for lunch.

She was tall and lithe, and at 35, slender. All agents, even though they didn’t work in protection, had to stay fit. When she approached him, she smiled. “Hello, Max. I’ve been anxious to see you.”

He stood. “Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Sit down.”

Gracefully, she took a chair adjacent to him. That was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. The second was the long luxurious reddish hair, now back in a knot. Even in her appearance, Angie was the opposite of Whitney, whose looks were as feisty as her personality.

Except this morning, when she’d been as vulnerable as a newborn kitten. The jolt of pain the notion caused shot through him.

The waitress came over and they ordered coffee.

Max began. “I’ve been unfair. But I couldn’t talk about this over the weekend.”

“I thought maybe you’d backed out.”

He was surprised. “I did text that I talked with her about us.”

She shrugged a somewhat dainty shoulder, though he knew she’d taken a bullet there once. “Perhaps I’m insecure. Let’s deal with what happened now and then put it behind us. Did she ask you to reconsider?”

“She protested at first.”

But I don’t understand, Max. How could you make this life-changing decision unilaterally? Without consulting me?

“What did she say?”

I said I was in love with you. Romantically.

“I don’t want to betray Whitney by gossiping about her.”

Angie’s light complexion flushed. “Hmm. You left me hanging. I thought maybe you stayed with her.”

“No. She wanted nothing to do with me after I dropped this little bomb on her.”

Her delicate brows furrowed. “You seem upset by that.”

“Of course I am. I’m devastated.”

“Then why did you break off your relationship? Start one with me?”

Impatience knotted his stomach. “You know why. You and I have gotten close. I want to see if we have a future. I want to see if we might be a fit to have a baby.”

“Fair enough.”

He could tell she was disappointed. What had she expected? A declaration of love? Hell, when had he gotten so bad at figuring women out?

“So, come over to my house tonight. We’ll celebrate.”

Celebrate? Seriously? He wanted to crawl in a cave right now. But he had to get on with his plan. His actions, as hurtful as they’d been, couldn’t be for nothing. “All right. I might have a case, but I’ll let you know when I’ll be back.”

Standing, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

The sound of breaking glass came from the other side of the room. Max tracked it. He saw Whitney, seated facing them, a broken cup on the table in front of her and a look of betrayal on her face.

Fuck! This was going from bad to worse.