Chapter One
Christmas Eve, Present
Fifteen minutes, not five.
That’s how long it took any Jetway to reach its intended plane at SFO. While other first-class passengers rose around her, hauling luggage out of overhead bins and calling for rides, Mel remained seated. She stretched a long leg out in front of her, toeing over her rock-studded heels and slipping them on. Like her fellow travelers, she was in a hurry too—already a day late and less than two hours to showtime—but she knew the drill here at her home airport.
So too did the flight attendants on this daily hop from London. Her favorite steward, Jeremy, shuffled down the aisle at a leisurely pace, smiling. “Anything else, Agent Cruz?” he asked in his lilting accent. As was their routine, he handed over her folded suit jacket, the load noticeably lighter without her gun case tucked underneath.
“Just Ms. Cruz now,” she said with as warm a smile as she could muster after flying all day.
“Old habits.”
“Tell me about it.” She was barely used to it herself, and she’d been out of the Bureau eight months now. If she had to change it a third time, she’d shoot someone for sure.
Standing, she shrugged into her coat while Jeremy pulled her go-bag and briefcase down from the bin. “See you next month?” he asked.
She bit back a truer grin as Jeremy adjusted his Santa’s hat. “Home for a bit,” she managed.
On cue, her cell vibrated in her pocket. Expecting what was on it, she thought better not to pull it out in front of Jeremy. Thankfully, another passenger across the aisle signaled for his help.
“Duty calls,” he said, extending a hand.
“Always a pleasure,” she said, shaking it. “Have a happy holiday, Jeremy.”
“Same to you, Ag—Ms. Cruz,” he corrected before moving on.
Mel laid her bags in the empty window seat beside her and methodically went through the rest of her deplaning checks—swipe a hand through the seat back pocket, double-check around her seat, pat herself down to make sure she had everything, ignore the momentary flash of panic at the missing badge and gun. Personal effects all accounted for, she turned her back to the aisle and withdrew her phone.
You get here early enough, you can have part one of your Xmas presents before the party.
Below the text was a picture of her dark-haired, dark-eyed lover, looking like the sinful devil he was in a state of semi-undress. Tuxedo pants hung low on his slim hips, an unbuttoned dress shirt showed off his long, lean torso, and a red-and-green bowtie dangled loose around his neck.
Oh so tempting. Danny knew what she liked to do with dangling pieces of fabric. At least it was around his neck in this shot. The picture he’d sent eleven hours ago, as she’d sat in the boarding area at Heathrow, involved much less clothing, what looked like that same damn bowtie looped around his wrists, and the message, Wouldn’t you rather be on my plane?
His fucking plane had been what started all this.
Sixteen Months Ago
It was the middle of the night when Mel charged into the private hangar, flashed her badge at the flight crew preparing the Talley jet, and marched up the portable stairs, banging down the airplane door until Danny answered.
As the boss and best friend of his brother Aidan, Mel had been around Danny almost half her life. But the youngest Talley son was thirteen years her junior and always had a model on his arm or a phone to his ear, constantly on the go as Talley Enterprises’ public face and COO. And he somehow managed to do all that with a perma-grin that charmed everyone and irritated Mel to no end. That irritation had kept her from appreciating the annoying frat boy who’d grown into a handsome, flirtatious, successful businessman.
But the Danny in front of her now, dressed only in a pair of low-slung sweats, she appreciated. Tall like the rest of the Talleys, his torso stretched for miles, and every one of them was delicious. Wide shoulders and a carved collarbone, a broad chest smattered with dark curls, lightly ribbed abs and the most well-defined hip bones she’d ever seen on a man. Not to mention the trail of dark curls leading below his waistband.
“See something you like?”
Gaze snapping up, she met that charming-bordering-on-shit-eating grin and grabbed hold of her remembered irritation. She shouldered him aside and barreled into the jet’s main cabin. “I’m going with you. The first commercial flight out to Houston isn’t until six and I need to get to your brother sooner.”
Danny scratched absently at his chest, leering when her goddamn betraying eyes strayed there. “Yeah, Mom called. Something about an incident this morning in Galveston. Good thing I was already going down there.”
She tossed her bag onto the leather couch and put her hands on her hips. “And why was that?”
He crossed his arms, squaring off. And flexing. The devil. “Aidan asked me to gather some information. Shipping manifests and the like.” He jutted his chin at a stack of folders on the table between two swiveling chairs. “He needs it in a hurry, and I have the connections to get it, without all those pesky law-enforcement restrictions you’re saddled with.”
That pride, however well deserved, was irritating too. A fucking hotshot civilian in the middle of a case that was bigger—and possibly more deadly—than any of them realized. “You couldn’t just email those to him?”
“It seemed easier this way.”
“To fly the company jet there, in the middle of the night? That’s not the real reason. Out with it, Daniel.”
He startled a little and an attractive blush slashed across his high cheekbones. He didn’t try to hide it, grinning wider. “I’m on a mission of my own. To check out this new partner of his.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” She dropped her arms and turned on her heel to keep from strangling him.
A second later, heat hit her back and his warm breath blanketed her ear. “Don’t worry, chica. I’m not interested for myself. Just being a good brother, checking out this Jamie fellow.”
She held up a commanding hand. “Don’t say anything else.”
“My lips are sealed, unless you want to do something about that.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t contain her laughter, surprised at the tiny bit of weight that floated off her chest with it. She glanced over her shoulder, nose to nose with the handsome devil. “You gonna give me a lift or what?”
“You gonna give me a date when we get back?”
“We’ll see.” She didn’t think before she spoke—a rarity—and the spontaneity seemed to surprise Danny as much as her.
His dark eyes grew wide, his smile even wider. “I can work with that.”
Present
Yes, she’d rather have flown in on Danny’s jet, but after spending the past week apart, being without him there too, surrounded by all those memories, would have been as frustrating as flying commercial.
And it would have given away the unscheduled stop she’d made in Dublin for his Christmas present. She eyed her go-bag in the seat, hoping like hell she hadn’t overstepped.
The Jetway connected, bumping the plane and jolting her out of her thoughts. Deplaning, she messaged back. Yacht or ship?
The Ellen.
She did smile then, wide and true. The newest ship in the Talley Enterprises fleet, a major star at tonight’s company party, had been named after the Talley matriarch. It’d been a running family joke that there had been ships named after each of the three Talley daughters, and a few after the granddaughters too, but none yet after Ellen. Danny’s father, TE’s CEO, swore he was saving the best for last, and that’s certainly what was on display tonight. A new flagship to vault TE ahead of its competitors and to send John into retirement with a happy life and a happy wife.
Everything set for tonight? she asked.
Everything’s under control.
As TE’s new Chief of Security, she was in charge of safety for tonight’s event—from guest background checks to on-site security. Most of it was advance work, taken care of well before her trip, but she hadn’t intended to cut her return so close. That said, her deputy security chief, Mitch, was a senior Talley employee; they’d hired extra security for the event; and there’d be no shortage of trained eyes at the party, with FBI agents Aidan and Cam and former agent Jamie all in attendance.
Need to run by my place and change, she texted. Be there in 60.
More like 90.
He was probably right. No longer having law enforcement clearance, she had to go through customs with the masses. But with only her briefcase, go-bag and gun case, which she now had to retrieve directly from TSA, she hoped to make it quick.
If we officially moved in together, this wouldn’t be a problem, Danny added.
It was an argument they’d been having for months. Between hectic work schedules and the news they hadn’t told the family yet, she’d kept her condo and he’d kept his yacht, snatching time together at one place or the other but calling neither their home. They couldn’t go on like this much longer—working or living the way they did. She realized that too and was as frustrated as Danny. But they weren’t going to hash out a solution apart, over texts. That was half their fucking problem.
Before she could reply, another text came through, blessedly letting her off the hook, for now. You don’t need to swing by the condo. You’ve got your Sig. I’ve got everything else.
Everything?
You put it all in a garment bag before you left. Dummy proof.
Danny proof.
Well, not the shoes...
Meaning he’d gone for the highest pair of fuck-me-heels in her closet—sparkly and stiletto, probably—versus the ones that actually matched her gown for the party.
Good.
After his bowtie teasing, and a week away, she had the same idea. If she could make it to the port early.
She texted back 60 and pocketed the phone. Slinging her go-bag over one shoulder, she picked up her briefcase and followed the rest of the first-class passengers off the plane, through international baggage claim and into the customs cattle-call. Six lines were separated by stanchions, forming lanes that led to chest-high booths with customs agents sitting behind glass dividers. Guards stood behind each booth, ready for bag searches if the agent deemed it necessary. All the lanes funneled to the terminal exit behind the booths, with nowhere to go the other direction but back to the gates. She cased the entire area as she did every time through; no changes since last month.
Nearing the front of the line, motion ahead caught her attention. The agent manning her lane’s booth left the box and another stepped in. None of the agents in the other lanes were relieved. Instincts tripped, an anticipatory shiver raced up Mel’s spine, warning bells ringing in her ears, but with ropes on either side of her, and a line of travelers behind her, she couldn’t switch lanes or reverse direction without notice. She kept a watchful eye as she withdrew her passport and carry permit. When it was her turn, she stepped up to the booth and smiled politely, sliding her papers under the glass partition.
No longer traveling on a diplomatic visa, Mel’s passport was new, as was her picture. Singed off by an explosion last spring, her hair, in the picture and months later still, was short and curly, the first time she’d worn it that way since Academy. She was trying to live her life in a lower-maintenance way. And generally failing at it, hair notwithstanding.
The agent glanced up only long enough to make sure her person matched her passport. Typical inspector behavior—maybe the original agent was just called into a meeting, or away on an emergency. The agent scanned the passport under the electronic reader. “Nature of your visit?” he asked.
“Returning home.”
“Of your travel?”
“Business.”
The computer beeped once. Cleared. Two beeps and you were in trouble. Instead of handing back her documents, though, the agent looked up, his hazel eyes assessing. “What kind of business are you in, Ms. Cruz?”
“Shipping,” she answered vaguely.
“And that required you to visit Croatia?”
“It did.”
It did not, at least not in this instance. There was paperwork showing her in Dubrovnik on behalf of TE, but she’d actually been in Vukovar on a contract assignment, chasing a war criminal no sanctioned government agency had been able to capture. She’d gotten her man, or rather, she’d chased him into a snow-covered sunflower field where the very landmines he’d laid had claimed his miserable life.
Her fleeting sense of achievement was cut off as guards converged behind the booth agent. One held her gun case; the other wore a stern, determined expression. The warning bells in her head chimed louder.
“Is there a problem?” Mel asked.
The empty-handed guard came around the booth first. “If you’ll come with us, Ms. Cruz.” He held out an arm toward the adjacent holding rooms.
“May I ask what this is about?”
The one with her gun case came around the other side of the booth, boxing her in. “Routine checks.”
She kept her voice neutral, despite her growing alarm and impatience. “Gentlemen, I’m Melissa Cruz, the former Special Agent in Charge of the FBI’s San Francisco field office, and now head of security for an international shipping company, which has its holiday gala this evening. I need to be going. As it’s Christmas Eve, I’m sure there’s someplace you’d rather be as well. My permits should be in the system and in order.” She reached into the outer pocket of her briefcase and withdrew her get-out-of-jail-free card, handing it to the first guard. “If there are any issues, DOJ will clear them up for you.”
He didn’t bother to look at the card, just shoved it in his pocket. “Ma’am, please.” The perfunctory “please” didn’t rankle half as much as the condescending “ma’am.” Not that she wasn’t used to the address, only that she was accustomed to hearing it with respect, or fear.
As two more guards approached, Mel assessed her options. She could take the four of them out right here, but that would only bring more guards. And more attention from the cattle-pen full of witnesses who were already reaching for their phones, too used to airport disturbances these days. She had better odds, from every angle, if she moved this scene off the main floor.
She lifted her hands, palms out, de-escalating the situation. “Of course. Lead the way.” She followed the guard with her gun case, while the other, after retrieving her documents from the booth agent, trailed behind them. Taking out her phone again, she texted Danny.
ICE not playing nice. Call Price. Gonna be late. Love you.
“We’re going to need that too,” the guard behind her said.
She expected as much, which was why she’d pressed the sleep key after sending her text. When she tapped the home button and brought up the unlock screen, she entered the passcode Jamie had programmed into all their phones.
The screen darkened once more.
For good.
She handed it over her shoulder, hiding her smirk.