hell-bent on getting your aunt Emma to attend the party?”
“According to Natalie, everyone who matters in D.C. society knows who Emma is, and if she isn’t at the party, it will be noticed, and that will embarrass my mother.”
“Is Natalie working for your father now?”
“No,” she answered. “She’s just helping out with the birthday parties. She and her husband, George, still run that Internet company. From what I understand, it’s doing quite well. They sell everything from shoes to kitchen sinks. They have so many people working for them, they can afford to take time off.”
“Is George a believer, too?” she asked.
Olivia laughed. “A believer? Do you mean under my father’s charismatic spell?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“Yes, he is. According to Natalie, our father has doubled their money. She boasts that they could retire now if they wanted.”
The nurse walked into the room carrying a glass of orange juice. She handed the drink to Olivia and unhooked the IV.
“You know the drill,” she said. “Drink all the orange juice, sit back, and relax. If you feel dizzy, push the call button.”
Olivia’s cell phone rang. Certain it was Natalie calling again with a renewed attack, she didn’t bother to look at the screen.
Her greeting wasn’t very polite. “You’re driving me crazy. You know that? Absolutely crazy.”
A deep male voice responded. “Yeah? Good to know.”
Agent Grayson Kincaid was on the line.
FIVE
G rayson had spent the rest of his afternoon putting out fires caused by the Jorguson debacle, but as busy as he was, he couldn’t get Olivia MacKenzie out of his head, and that irritated the hell out of him. His response to her didn’t make any sense. After all, he’d been with the woman for only an hour. It was purely a physical reaction, he reasoned. She had a beautiful face, an amazing smile, an incredible body. He would have to be a eunuch not to notice or react.
He sat at his desk reading through a file and cross-checking it with the data on his computer screen, but every now and then she’d pop into his thoughts. Disgusted with his lack of focus, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it and started over again on page one.
Agent Ronan Conrad knocked on his door, opened it, and leaned in. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure. Come in.”
The office was claustrophobic. Ronan had to shut the door in order to pull out the one chair so that he could sit. In the process he banged his knee on the metal desk.
It was a cold, uninviting space. The gray walls were bare, and there weren’t any personal items, like family photos or mementos, on the desk. The only window was the size of a postage stamp.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Ronan said, grinning.
The two men were good friends. They had gone through training together and had been assigned to the same team now for four years. Their work ethic and dedication were very similar, though their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. Ronan grew up in a large working-class family in the inner city. He attended a state university on an athletic scholarship and upon graduation entered the Marines. After serving several years on a special ops team, he returned home to attend graduate school and was recruited by the FBI.
Grayson, on the other hand, had been dealt a different hand. He was born into a family of wealth and prestige, and in the D.C. area was considered a blue blood. He entered the academy after earning his law degree at Princeton. His inheritance from a trust fund handed down by his grandfather was substantial, but Grayson had made several wise investments and had turned a large fortune into an even larger fortune. If the truth be known, he didn’t need to work for a living.
Coming from two such dissimilar circumstances, one would assume that the two men would be worlds apart, but the opposite was true. They had bonded after the first couple of weeks of training. Ronan
“According to Natalie, everyone who matters in D.C. society knows who Emma is, and if she isn’t at the party, it will be noticed, and that will embarrass my mother.”
“Is Natalie working for your father now?”
“No,” she answered. “She’s just helping out with the birthday parties. She and her husband, George, still run that Internet company. From what I understand, it’s doing quite well. They sell everything from shoes to kitchen sinks. They have so many people working for them, they can afford to take time off.”
“Is George a believer, too?” she asked.
Olivia laughed. “A believer? Do you mean under my father’s charismatic spell?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“Yes, he is. According to Natalie, our father has doubled their money. She boasts that they could retire now if they wanted.”
The nurse walked into the room carrying a glass of orange juice. She handed the drink to Olivia and unhooked the IV.
“You know the drill,” she said. “Drink all the orange juice, sit back, and relax. If you feel dizzy, push the call button.”
Olivia’s cell phone rang. Certain it was Natalie calling again with a renewed attack, she didn’t bother to look at the screen.
Her greeting wasn’t very polite. “You’re driving me crazy. You know that? Absolutely crazy.”
A deep male voice responded. “Yeah? Good to know.”
Agent Grayson Kincaid was on the line.
FIVE
G rayson had spent the rest of his afternoon putting out fires caused by the Jorguson debacle, but as busy as he was, he couldn’t get Olivia MacKenzie out of his head, and that irritated the hell out of him. His response to her didn’t make any sense. After all, he’d been with the woman for only an hour. It was purely a physical reaction, he reasoned. She had a beautiful face, an amazing smile, an incredible body. He would have to be a eunuch not to notice or react.
He sat at his desk reading through a file and cross-checking it with the data on his computer screen, but every now and then she’d pop into his thoughts. Disgusted with his lack of focus, he shook his head in an attempt to clear it and started over again on page one.
Agent Ronan Conrad knocked on his door, opened it, and leaned in. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure. Come in.”
The office was claustrophobic. Ronan had to shut the door in order to pull out the one chair so that he could sit. In the process he banged his knee on the metal desk.
It was a cold, uninviting space. The gray walls were bare, and there weren’t any personal items, like family photos or mementos, on the desk. The only window was the size of a postage stamp.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Ronan said, grinning.
The two men were good friends. They had gone through training together and had been assigned to the same team now for four years. Their work ethic and dedication were very similar, though their backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. Ronan grew up in a large working-class family in the inner city. He attended a state university on an athletic scholarship and upon graduation entered the Marines. After serving several years on a special ops team, he returned home to attend graduate school and was recruited by the FBI.
Grayson, on the other hand, had been dealt a different hand. He was born into a family of wealth and prestige, and in the D.C. area was considered a blue blood. He entered the academy after earning his law degree at Princeton. His inheritance from a trust fund handed down by his grandfather was substantial, but Grayson had made several wise investments and had turned a large fortune into an even larger fortune. If the truth be known, he didn’t need to work for a living.
Coming from two such dissimilar circumstances, one would assume that the two men would be worlds apart, but the opposite was true. They had bonded after the first couple of weeks of training. Ronan
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