Hot Ice (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 7) (3 page)

“Before you start—”

“Sit down, Gracie.”

His voice was firm and deep, and she did as he commanded before she could stop herself. And then she was mad that she’d done it.

“Your mother is worried.
I’m
worried. We aren’t going to let you run around town with some madman after you and no one there to help if it happens again. And then there’s the WHO conference—we can’t let you go to Rome alone and unprotected.”

Grace swallowed. She didn’t say that she wasn’t planning on going to Rome alone—she was going with colleagues—because it was absolutely no use once her father had made up his mind. Besides, what had happened the other night
had
been frightening.

After she’d run headlong into Tim Fitzgerald in the parking lot, he’d hustled her back into the building and called security. A sweep of the area netted them nothing. Who the man was or how he’d gotten past the gate was a mystery.
 

She would have wondered if she’d imagined the entire incident if not for the fact she could still see the rain and lamplight glinting off his gun when she closed her eyes. She’d been terrified, and she knew she was lucky the car alarm had startled him enough for her to get away.

The past couple of days, she’d barricaded herself in her house with her best friend, Brooke. She felt safer with Brooke there, and Brooke hadn’t minded staying with her. Grace still went to work, but she left before dark and she was home, inside, doors locked, before the sun went down.

Security had reported the incident to the police as a matter of course. There was nothing they could do when she didn’t know who had tried to grab her. Her father, however, had different ideas.

“It’s too soon in the election cycle for any of us to be entitled to Secret Service protection, but never fear. We’ve hired a private firm. They’re sending over a man”—he looked at his watch—“who you’ll be meeting in about ten minutes. He’ll be with you twenty-four seven.”

“Daddy,” she began, her lungs squeezing with the effort to breathe, but he held up his hand to silence her.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, princess.”

She cringed a little at the childhood endearment as he reached into his desk and then slid a folded sheet of paper across to her. She was too old to be her daddy’s princess, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. The nickname made her feel inadequate somehow, though she knew that wasn’t what he intended. To him she
was
a princess, just like all her sisters.
 

She laid her hand on the paper, her heart kicking up. But she didn’t unfold it.

“What is this?”

“A headline.” The lines in her father’s face had settled into a worried frown. She didn’t like that look. She’d never liked that look.

Grace took a deep breath and lifted the top of the sheet.
Presidential Candidate’s Daughter Creating Potential Bioweapons in Lab—Where Is the Line on This Kind of Research?

Grace gritted her teeth as fear and anger swirled inside her. Yes, she was working with viruses—and yes, she’d stumbled on some pretty damning evidence of what could be done with the viruses she’d been manipulating, but her research was done to help people, not hurt them.

She’d only told a couple of colleagues about her most recent findings—and none of them would talk to the media since they all wanted to protect their jobs—but this headline cut too close to the bone for comfort.

“It’s not true.”

“Of course it’s not.” Her father tiredly rubbed his hand across his eyes. “But when did that ever stop the press from printing the most sensational headline possible?”

“Daddy…” She sucked in a pained breath. “I’m sorry. This won’t reflect well on you, will it?”

“No, it won’t. But I’ll tell them what I always do—my children lead their own lives and make their own choices. You’ll have to field some attention, I’m afraid, but then all of us do these days.”

Yes, she knew it was true, especially after his announcement the other night. The night she’d missed.

“I’m sorry I missed the party,” she said softly. “I lost track of time, and—”

“What’s done is done.” Her father stood and came around the desk. He perched on the corner of it, one leg dangling as he leaned toward her. “Gracie, be good for this man. Accept the security detail, and allow him to do his job. Your mother will sleep better at night.”

She dropped her gaze to her lap. She hated the idea of having some strange man around, always there, watching her and being a part of her life. Since she’d been a kid, they’d always had help—nannies, cooks, gardeners, drivers, et cetera—and she’d always wanted to escape somewhere and live alone for a while.

She used to hide in the closet with her books and a flashlight until someone invariably found her and made her come out again. She hated being around so many people all the time. She liked her privacy, and that was one of the best things about growing up and becoming an adult. She had her own space—a town house in Alexandria—and she could sit by herself and read all the books she liked. It was heaven. Even Brooke understood it because Brooke was an introvert too.

But to have a man—a strange man she didn’t know—with her around the clock, in her space? Pure torture.

“I will,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

Her father patted her cheek. And then he straightened and pressed a button on his desk phone.

“Please send in the man from the security firm.”

* * *

Garrett sat on the chair across from the senator’s secretary and tried not to fidget. He’d arrived at nine a.m., as requested. He was wearing a suit, which he hated, and a tie, which he also hated. The tie was knotted in a double Windsor, and it was perfect. It should be, considering how seriously his mama took manners and class.

He cleaned up nicely, but he didn’t like it. After the past few years in the Army, and the last one with HOT, he was used to living life a bit more on the edge.

Damned Cotillion lessons. He’d never guessed they’d get him in trouble someday. His mama always said they’d save his ass, not string it up for him.

“This way, Mr. Spencer,” the secretary said, standing and walking over to a polished mahogany door. She waited until Garrett stopped, and then she gave him a quick smile before she opened the door and announced him.

A gray-haired man stood beside a chair, his hand on the shoulder of the woman sitting there. The man looked stern, but the woman looked cold and haughty. A twinge of dislike filled him. He knew her kind—born with a silver spoon and unimpressed with anyone she deemed beneath her.
 

The superior look on her face reminded him too much of his ex. Melissa hadn’t been rich, but she’d definitely been haughty. He’d found that a challenge once—all the way up until he’d had her spread-eagle beneath him and screaming his name.

He didn’t like haughty. Not at all. It made the hairs on his neck prickle in warning. He’d be nice to this woman all day long, but he wasn’t taking an ounce of bullshit aimed at making him feel inferior to anyone. He got that nearly every day from his ex-wife, and that was more than enough.

The senator walked forward and held out his hand. He gave Garrett a quick once-over, his gaze taking in Garrett’s size and the cut of his suit, no doubt. He nodded once and then clasped Garrett’s hand in a strong grip.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Spencer.”

Mr. Spencer. It sounded so strange rolling off a senator’s tongue, as if he were a fellow congressman or something. He was Sergeant Spencer, or Iceman, or Garrett. Gary to his ex-wife because she knew he hated it.

“Pleased to be of service, sir.”

Senator Campbell was looking at him intently. “You’ve been briefed?”

“Yes, sir.”

He’d been briefed all right. Rule number one: keep the senator’s daughter alive. Rule number two: keep your hands off her. Rule number three: don’t let her know you’re a military special operator.
 

That last was particularly annoying. He was a highly trained military machine, and he was being pulled from more important duty like protecting the world from terrorists and nut jobs, instead being sent to babysit a spoiled rich girl. She’d been attacked, and she probably needed protection, but it was the kind of protection the police or the FBI could provide.
 

Having HOT do it was kind of like using a sledgehammer to hang a picture. It worked, but it was overkill.

Garrett understood why Mendez had skin in the game, why he thought he might get something he wanted out of the exchange, but Garrett didn’t have to like it. It was politics and posturing, nothing more. Mendez would have a powerful man in his debt after this assignment, but Garrett would be the one suffering through the day-to-day tedium of watching this woman.

He didn’t care if she was a researcher at a medical laboratory—she still looked like a spoiled rich girl to him. Her nose was in the air, and her hands were clasped on her lap, her knuckles turning white.

“This is my daughter, Grace,” the senator said, turning to include her. She hadn’t moved a muscle. In fact, she appeared frozen in place.

But a moment later she rolled into motion as if she hadn’t been staring at Garrett with disdain. She stood with fluid movements and put out her hand for him to shake. He took it gently, because one did not grip a lady’s hand the way they gripped a man’s, and gave her a light squeeze.

“Ma’am.”

Her hand in his was soft and small—and cold. Of course she was cold. She looked like ice wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Her blue eyes were glacial, and her pale skin was snow-white. She was an ice queen, all cold and hard and buttoned-up tight.

She was taller than he’d expected, probably five-eight or so, and average build. Nothing to write home about, though it was hard to tell because her dress was shapeless. He had no idea why women wore dresses that didn’t hug their curves, but they did. She did. An A-line dress, as he knew only too well from listening to his mama. He’d never liked the damn things.

She also wore a scarf at her throat and a chunky bracelet on her wrist. Diamond studs winked from her ears.

“Please, call me Grace,” she said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was a surprise, all husky and throaty, as if she’d just rolled out of bed—or spent hours slamming back whisky in a bar before climbing on a table to dance the night away.

It was an incongruous image perhaps, but the smokiness of her tone surprised him. And sent a tiny tingle of awareness sliding down his spine and into his groin.

Fucking great.

“I’m Garrett, ma’am. Or Spencer if you prefer something more formal.”

She hesitated, and he wondered if she was considering something like
Jeeves
instead. “Garrett is fine.”

She smiled, but it didn’t seem very genuine. It wavered at the corners, as if she were forcing it. His dislike flared.
 

I don’t want to be here any more than you do, lady.

The senator walked over to his desk and picked up an envelope that he then handed to Garrett. “Here’s a key to the town house. And there’s an armored car waiting outside for you.”

Grace’s smile had faded completely. In fact, her jaw now hung open. “A key to my house?”

Senator Campbell gave his daughter a stern look, no doubt because she sounded so offended that a lackey like Garrett would dare to have a key. “It’s a Campbell house, princess, and yes, the man needs a key of his own.”

Grace was having none of it. “I pay rent every month like any other tenant would do—”

“You pay rent because you wanted to.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her knuckles were white again. “It’s
my
house. My space. You promised—”

“Princess.”

Princess, indeed. But that one word stopped the words from flowing. She still looked upset. Her pale skin was now flushed, the pink glow in her cheeks making her look more alive and less, well, frosty.

“You agreed to let the man do his job. So let him do it.”

She’d
agreed.
Fucking fabulous.

Her head bowed a fraction. “Of course.”

“Here’s a copy of her schedule.” Senator Campbell handed him a folder.
 

Garrett didn’t open it. There was plenty of time for that—plus he didn’t like the way Grace’s shoulders suddenly sagged. As if she were sinking under the weight of her father’s authority.

Then he shook himself mentally. Her daddy called her princess and ordered up military security for her—and Garrett felt sorry for her? No, she just didn’t like that she was about to be curtailed in her actions. That she had a keeper to answer to for the foreseeable future.

Jesus, this job got more and more exciting every damn second.

The senator went to his daughter and gave her a quick squeeze. “I have a vote on the floor in half an hour. You’ll be safe with this man, princess. Do as he says and all will be well.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Your mother and I will see you tonight at the benefit.”

Grace’s eyes were flat, distant. But her smile returned. Her fake, forced smile. “I look forward to it.”