Mendez was grinning, and Garrett felt his ears growing hot. Yeah, he was a big, muscular, tattooed, tough soldier who could mince his way through a waltz and use a fish fork with aplomb. Of course, it was a ridiculous mental picture for anyone who knew him now as opposed to when he was a child.
He blew things up when required and patched up his teammates when necessary. He hadn’t waltzed since his wedding reception. And these days, he microwaved his meals or got takeout that came with plastic forks. Or sporks. No etiquette necessary with those.
“So if you were to suddenly be thrust into the presence of a United States senator and his family, you wouldn’t make an ass of yourself?”
“Uh, no sir, I don’t believe so. Anything is possible though.”
Mendez did laugh this time. Even Richie looked a little astonished. But the colonel quickly got himself under control.
“I need you to be utterly perfect, soldier. I need you to dredge up every bit of politeness and etiquette your mama drummed into you, and I need you to use it. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
What the fuck?
Mendez pulled a photograph from another pile and handed it to him. Garrett stared at the woman, memorizing her. The first thing he noticed about her was the black-rimmed glasses. The second was her eyes. They were brilliant blue, fringed in dark lashes. They were filled with intelligence… and haughtiness, as if she knew she was smarter than everyone else in the room. Her hair was dark brown and pulled back from her head, probably in a bun, and her skin was pale, as if she spent a lot of time indoors.
She wasn’t precisely beautiful. But she wasn’t unattractive. She looked to be about average weight judging by her face, but he couldn’t really tell since the photo was cropped at her collarbone. Maybe she was stacked with curves. Or maybe she was bird-thin. No idea what lay beneath that glimpse of creamy skin in the vee of her shirt.
“That’s Dr. Grace Campbell,” Mendez said. “She’s a genetics researcher at Magnolia Laboratories. She’s also the daughter of Senator Preston Campbell. He just announced his run for the presidency a few days ago.”
Garrett hadn’t paid much attention to who was running for president just yet. It wasn’t important until election year so far as he was concerned.
“She’s working on something… sensitive,” Mendez said after a long pause. “And the night her father declared he was a candidate, she was attacked at the lab.”
Garrett’s head snapped up, his gaze crashing into Mendez’s. He didn’t like the idea that this woman had been assaulted, even if she did look like she thought she was smarter than everyone else.
But he liked it even less that she was working on something sensitive.
Genetics scared the hell out of him. Had ever since the day his parents came home and said the word leukemia in connection to his brother. Why Ben had gotten cancer and not him was something he’d never understood. It’d killed Ben, but here he was, going strong. It still terrified him every day that Melissa might call and tell him Cammie was sick.
Researchers had sequenced the human genome, they could tell you whether you were more susceptible to things like cancer because of your genes, but they couldn’t really do a fucking thing to stop it from happening when it came right down to it.
“Is there a connection between her father and the assault? Or her research and the assault?”
Mendez lifted both eyebrows as if he was surprised Garrett had gotten that far on his own. Jesus, he was really going to have to stop being such a moody dick and start acting like he had a brain. Fighting with middies wasn’t helping him impress his commanding officer in the brain department, that was for sure.
“Good questions. No one knows the answer to that. Yet. But the senator has… requested protection for his daughter, especially since she’s due to make a speech at a WHO conference in Rome next week.”
“Wise of him.”
“This is where you come in, Ice.”
Garrett blinked. “Me?”
He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this. At all.
Mendez’s gaze slid between Garrett and his team leader. “HOT’s missions have changed as we’ve gone deep black. We have money and access we didn’t have before. We also have a reputation—and there are certain members of Congress who have been made aware of our existence, because without them we have no funding. Senator Campbell is one of these men. He has personally requested HOT to provide protection for his daughter.”
“Sir, wouldn’t the Secret Service be better suited for the task?”
“The senator doesn’t think so. He wants us. And I am in no position to refuse.” Mendez straightened and walked over to the window. “Nor do I want to. There’s something going on over there”—he was looking west, toward DC—“and I’d really like to know what it is.”
He turned back to them.
“Ian Black disappeared without a trace. And he shouldn’t have. We should have been able to track him at the very least. But we couldn’t. Explain that one.”
Garrett didn’t say a word. Neither did Richie. The colonel was talking about the mercenary they’d gone after in Qu’rim recently when Nick “Brandy” Brandon had gone undercover and tried to ferret out the secrets of Black Security. Brandy hadn’t found any secrets, but he had found a girlfriend. Victoria Royal was now a contract sniper for HOT, her Army record cleared, her sister rescued from terrorists and rebuilding her life here in the States. A fucking beautiful story, except for the fact Black had gotten away.
“And then there’s still the fact that someone protected Stavros Metaxas when he turned up in DC and almost killed Hawk. I want to know who is leaking information to terrorists and who is protecting arms dealers. If I have to fucking send my guys to guard an entire stadium full of heiresses, I will.”
Mendez’s dark eyes flashed, and Garrett knew he was screwed.
“Brush up on your table manners, Ice, because you’re about to become arm candy for a senator’s daughter. Do what you have to do keep her safe. You don’t need to be her lapdog or take any bullshit if she tries to give it to you. Charm her if you have to. And above all, don’t fucking touch her for anything other than her safety, you got that?”
Garrett snapped to attention. “Sir, yes, sir!”
CHAPTER TWO
GRACE STOOD IN HER FATHER’S OFFICE in the Senate building and gaped at him. Through the window, she could see the Capitol dome. It always looked so stately, so surreal. It made her throat tighten up when she thought of what it stood for. And it made her proud that her father—her family—had served this nation for so many centuries, all the way back to her Revolutionary War ancestors who’d persevered against what must have seemed insurmountable odds.
But right now her throat was tight for a different reason.
“I’m sorry—did you say security detail?”
Her father was a tall man, robust, and deadly serious. He loved his family with all his heart, of that she had no doubt. But he was just so… so much larger than life and so forceful that he sometimes terrified her.
Right now, he was looking at her from across his desk—the desk that had been his grandfather’s when he’d been a senator and then his father’s when he’d been governor—his blue eyes as serious as a heart attack, as she and her sisters used to say.
“Yes, sweetheart, I did.” He’d steepled his hands in the pose that used to annoy her so much as a child because it indicated a lecture was coming. It still annoyed her because she didn’t like lectures any better now than she had then.
“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 understoo
d 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.
Hot Ice (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 7) Page 2