Keeping the Spy

by Victoria Pinder

  As she finished and walked down the stairs, her heart beat wildly in her chest the second she was on the top step and heard Liam as he said, "Wow."

  She walked down the stairs and took his hands. His eyes were still wide. She swallowed as her face was still hot.

  "Liam, I..."

  His hands brushed her cheek. "I remember you the day I came home from the Marines. I stared at you at the grocery store near my parent’s house."

  The day burned in her memory like it was yesterday. She had prayed in that moment that Liam would finally speak to her. She licked her lips and gazed in his blue hues.

  "How about all those years we spent together in school?"

  His other hand went to the small of her back. Tiny explosions went off in her skin that made her feel alive.

  "Your beauty tortured me, and yet you're the face of this town that always draws me home. You're my vision of a perfect woman, Sherry."

  No. She pushed at his arm. It was better to be real.

  "I'm not perfect, Liam."

  "You are, to me." His hand went to her chin and she was sure he intended to kiss her.

  All she wanted was to fade away in his embrace, but she whispered, "Why didn't you say anything sooner?"

  His lips brushed against hers.

  "What could I say? You made me tongue tied and unsure of myself. No one else ever did."

  She gazed up at him and a shiver rocked her. His muscles tightened around her and the next thing she knew she kissed him.

  Her mouth opened for his invasion and her temperature grew. His skin grew hot under her and she leaned in to deepen the kiss. He tasted better than any candy she ever had. His powerful lips left her breathless and all she could was get closer.

  As he came back and the world somehow made her smile, she winked.

  "Liam Collins was afraid to fall in love?"

  Then his intake of breath that caught in his throat made her stop. Then he said, "I am very much in love with you Sherry Worthing."

  Her heart beat doubled like her heart grew and wanted to burst out of her chest. A huge grin grew on her face.

  "So you're saying you'll be my Valentine?"

  "Sherry..."

  Yes, she knew that she sounded insincere. She absolutely wasn't, but she never thought this moment possible. For years, she dreamed of Liam as this far off person that she'd never be with. She placed her hand on his chest and played with his shirt collar and worked her way up to his chin.

  "I am overwhelmed Liam. I have always been half in love with you, and now that you're here and real and in my arms...it's not half anything. I love you too."

  Her dog barked in the distance and it sounded like he was happy and home. Happiness burst out of her like sunshine that couldn't be filtered.

  "It seems Joe loves you too."

  His hands squeezed her hips.

  "He's my new partner, if you'll have me."

  What? Her eyebrow arched up as she had the sense that he meant more than just tonight.

  "Have you?"

  He nodded, but otherwise didn't move.

  "Sherry, I don't want to date you though I will take whatever I can. I want to marry you."

  Again, her heart seemed to triple. This must be a blessing from above that her grandparents arranged for her. She had never been one to believe in fairy tales. Now she radiated hope.

  "Is that a proposal? I didn't hear a question."

  She felt the tremor in his hand.

  "Sherry, would you accept?"

  If this was a dream, then everything had to be perfect. She pointed to the polished mahogany floor.

  "Wait. Let's get in positions and don't lose your ability to speak on me...I need to hear this question."

  He bent down on one knee but took her hands in his.

  "Will you marry me?"

  "Yes!"

  She swayed as she pulled him off the ground. Once he had his feet planted firmly on the ground, she wrapped her hand around his neck.

  "Now kiss me."

  He shook his head and stepped closer. A thrill raced through her and his arm went behind her back. For once she had her happily-ever-after, and now she got to spend the rest of her life in the arms of the one she never thought she'd have. Liam.

  * * *

  <<<<>>>>

  Secret Crush Preview

  John Morgan loaded his Colt M4 Carbine assault rifle as he studied the mansion nestled in the Georgia hills. After a year of digging for information, Frank Hudson was about to be arrested.

  His skin prickled as his team moved into position. He frowned and adjusted the rifle by the strap across the back of his FBI wind jacket so he had his hands free.

  His cell phone buzzed in his jeans' back pocket. John checked it fast, surprised to see his brother's number. He turned off the ringer, deciding to call Peter once the mission ended. It had to be important for the heir apparent of the House of Morgan to call the spare son. John swallowed and shook his head. Normal families didn't call themselves a dynasty or the House of anything.

  With his gaze narrowed, John focused on his job—to arrest his father's associate. Frank was dirty, and he might know more information about John's father, Mitch. Every arrest brought John one step closer to the evidence he needed against the man who'd raised him.

  John tipped his chin and nodded at the four men set to break through the door.

  His primary team and the local police burst into the house. John stayed back, gun ready, in case an associate of Frank's ran outside.

  Agent Wolfson shouted, "FBI. Freeze."

  John gestured for more men to enter the house.

  No shots were fired.

  Just as the surveillance read, Frank Hudson had been home with his wife, Beatrice, and his two adult daughters, Serena and Serenity, who were all used to the best in life and funded through money laundering. Women's screams rang in the air as the last of the law enforcement filled the house.

  John tugged his baseball cap over his sandy blond hair and went inside with the third wave to ensure that Frank was in handcuffs.

  John lowered his head so Frank might not notice who'd brought him to justice as he rushed in the door. He'd prefer to let the guys who didn't personally know Frank handle the arrest. John's moment would come later, during the interrogation at the station as he let his six foot two frame intimidate from the door.

  He'd wasted too much time already. Mitch Morgan had killed his own daughter, John's sister, and he would prove it. Frank's arrest would help Victoria rest in peace, despite what Mitch had done to her.

  John clenched his jaw. Unlike Mitch, it had been easy to learn about Frank, his habits, his quirks, his schedule. John's shoulders were tight as he turned into the living room.

  Two team members stood over the older gentleman kneeling on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, with tears in his brown eyes. He cried out to the other agents, "My lawyer will hear of this."

  John scowled and shook his head. Frank was done, bringing John one inch closer to learning how deep the House of Morgan had buried itself.

  He'd spent a year on this case, on his mission to bring down all of his father's connections. It was airtight. Frank Hudson's charity had laundered money to thicken his wallet. The older man gazed into John's eyes. "John Morgan, is that you?"

  So much for waiting. John's spine straightened as he towered over the prisoner. Being the second son in the House of Morgan, who looked like Mitch, meant he'd always be recognized. He took off his cap and stilled. "Yeah, Frank. It's me."

  "Why would you do this to me?"

  John wouldn't give Frank any clues on this investigation for his lawyers to use. His body tensed as he slammed his fists on the coffee table. "Why did you break the law?"

  The old man pleaded in a warbling voice, "John Morgan, I'm friends with your father. That should mean something." He said it as though he expected leniency, for John to look the other way. He imagined his father, twisting his ring as he waited for someone like Frank to bow
to his hand.

  The House of Morgan owned everyone and everything. His father taught him to never let emotions interfere with business. He chose to ignore how the women all sat in the dining room and focused on his target. John shrugged. "Who isn't a friend with dear old Dad?"

  "I'll speak to Mitch, right after I speak to my attorney."

  John's mouth curled into a sneer. Perfect. His old man should know he was one step closer to uncovering his crimes. Then he turned on his heel. His footsteps echoed on the polished mahogany floors as John stepped out of the house and into the shadows of the trees outside. He'd interrogate Frank later.

  He went to his car and started it up, driving to the local headquarters to report that Frank Hudson was in custody.

  His brother's face played in his memory as John made the second turn onto I-285. What had Peter wanted? They hadn't spoken in years.

  John's phone vibrated in his back pocket. He reached behind him and stared at Peter's name, again, as he placed it on the console. A coldness inched up his spine. Truthfully, he had no words to say right now. Peter was his father's right-hand man and could be guilty. He could also not be. He clenched the phone. If he didn't answer, he'd spend forever analyzing what Peter might have to say. "Hello."

  "John."

  Peter's voice struck at some deep memories he'd rather avoid. The back of his neck pinched. Peter had chosen Mitch's life. I shouldn't have answered. "Peter, I'm busy."

  "Whatever you're doing can wait."

  Once again Peter Morgan thought he could order him around. His left eye twitched. His older brother's forceful answer burned like acid through him. No one told him what to do. He sighed. "No, my life can't wait."

  "Dad's dead."

  John stepped on the gas and his car took off at high speed. "He's what?"

  He took his foot off the accelerator and pressed his lips together. At least no other car was near him on the freeway.

  John's heart raced as Peter spoke with crisp syllables. "Dad is dead."

  Adrenalin shot through him, electrifying his body. He steadied the wheel. "I don't care."

  "I don't either."

  No? Peter expected to be next in line and to inherit the entire House of Morgan. Then just as fast as the storm of emotions set off inside him, his body temperature cooled. Peter was too much like their father. John didn't trust him. He'd keep his words and sentences short. "So why are you calling me?"

  "You should be at the funeral."

  John rolled his eyes as he turned off of the 285. "Why? So you can pretend we have a family?"

  "Victoria would want us to be together."

  John's breathing hitched at the sucker-punch. Their dead baby sister deserved better than her name in the mud. Though he didn't need to say so, he did anyway. "Vicki's dead."

  "I don't know how that happened."

  John rubbed his forehead. Peter had to stop this conversation, now. No words could change any of the past. "You do, too. Dad did something to her. It's his fault."

  "I don't know anything other than my sister died while I was away in grad school. You're my only brother."

  What did their shared DNA have to do with the question? John's entire body stiffened—he needed to know the truth. "Peter, did you help Dad kill Vicki?"

  "No, and if you have proof Dad did, then share."

  John hesitated. There had never been any proof, just unanswered questions that were buried with a closed casket. Their father's death changed everything. "I'm working on it."

  "Then you're too late. We're all that's left of the House of Morgan."

  John let out a sigh. Peter was right, as he'd never learn the truth now. Then he swallowed back his bitterness. "You'll go straight to hell if you covered for Dad."

  "I'm not involved. I loved her too."

  Peter had been silent, distant, and even during childhood, always with their father, except when he took the heat for whatever John or Vicki had done. John lifted his chin, threw his baseball cap into the backseat, and turned his car into headquarters' parking lot. "What's the point of coming to the funeral? Dad and I had nothing to say to each other."

  "You're not disinherited, despite how you intended to arrest him. Dad didn't care and even hoped you'd forgive him."

  He parked the car, resisting the urge to check his hair in the rear-view mirror. All that mattered right now was booking Frank Hudson.

  He shook his head. He'd never forgive, and Peter should never have, either. "How could you?"

  "I never said I did. I never said anything."

  Silence drove John away from trusting his older brother. He stepped out of the car, his every cell crawling with sweat. The humid air in Atlanta lacked the cool breezes coming off the ocean. "Peter..."

  "Come back to Miami. There's nothing holding you there. Now that Dad's dead you can stop arresting all of his lowlife associates who will never darken our doors again."

  "You knew?"

  "Yeah. Dad knew too. There was nothing any of us could do to bring Vicki back. Come home."

  John hung up and took the elevator to his office and picked up his report, then went to stand outside a conference room that overlooked Atlanta. Peter's call changed everything. John's boss, Special Agent Smith, waved him in.

  This was it. John's throat was parched.

  A part of him had failed. He'd never see Mitch Morgan in handcuffs.

  Smith leaned back in his office chair, near the wall, and took his time. John stayed still and noticed the dead flowers on a cabinet in the corner of his office. Smith nodded at him. "You're on now, John. Go."

  John's mind was in a daze. His skin felt clammy. He was supposed to give his report on white-collar crime statistics and an oral report on what happened at the Hudson estate.

  His father's old friend had been taken down in this investigation, but no one had ever uncovered any evidence on Mitch Morgan. Now, he'd never find it. Dad was dead.

  He rubbed his forehead. Then he slid the report across the table. "I can't do this right now."

  "What's the matter, Morgan?" His boss clasped his hands together.

  John swallowed and gazed into the older man's brown eyes. Special Agent Smith already hated him. John bet that his boss knew and expected the spoiled heir to return to his life of privilege. Pressing his lips together, he said, "My father is dead."

  Smith's nose curled and his tone was the same he used when interrogating someone. "Your father owns more than half the corporate businesses in this country, and much of that came from illegal activities."

  "We've never found evidence."

  Smith pressed his hands on his desk. "He needs to pay for his crimes."

  "You can't prosecute a dead man."

  John placed his hands in his pockets as he quoted the law and perspiration trickled down his spine. "I have to go."

  In his dark suit, Special Agent Smith stood and then crossed his arms. "Don't bother coming back."

  Now that Mitch Morgan was dead, Peter was the heir, but John would likely inherit billions of stolen dollars. The House of Morgan was richer than 99.9 percent of the world's population with stock in oil production, electricity, computer intellectual property, banking, and every other investment a hundred years of savvy ancestors had made. John turned around at the door. Smith wasn't worth his time. He shrugged. "Does this mean I'm fired?"

  "It would if I had anything on you." His boss glared at him as his face reddened. "You're useless to me now."

  John's shoulders tightened. The FBI had been his purpose for years. He didn't know what to say. He held his jaw tight. Smith had never liked him on his team, but who understood Mitch Morgan better than his own son? They both knew where they stood. Despite the animosity, he couldn't be fired, not by Smith, not without cause, and there was none. John left. He'd be better off finding out about Frank's interrogation.

  No one said anything to him on his way to the elevator. As he waited to leave the building, he texted Peter. I'm coming home. I'll text my arrival time when I g
et to the airport.

  Peter texted right back. Take the private jet.

  John shook his head. He walked into the elevator, hit the button for the first floor, and let his mind wander. He remembered his sister's tears the month before she died. He vowed to never let something like that happen to anyone else he loved.

  The House of Morgan, which was how they were raised to say family, changed with her death. Despite being the spitting image of his dad, John would never be like his old man, though he'd go to his funeral.

  It was a farce he needed to experience for himself.

  As the elevator doors opened, he took one final look around the FBI headquarters in Atlanta. The pristine white building once commanded him to believe in justice at all costs. He coughed and realized he no longer believed that. He wasn't sure of his own purpose anymore, but Peter was right on one thing. He had nothing left at the FBI.

  John put on his sunglasses to block the blinding sun and hurried out the door.

  Today he'd go home. Then he'd figure out what he was supposed to do next. Vengeance left him empty and unfulfilled.

  The House of Morgan

  Secret Crush

  Secret Baby

  Secret Bet

  Secret Wish

  Secret Dad

  Secret Heir

  Secret Tryst

  Secret Date

  Secret Romeo

  Secret Match (coming Feb 2019)

  And don’t forget to pick up Returning for Valentine’s (FREE if you go to my website)

  Also by Victoria Pinder

  Returning for Valentine’s (FREE if you go to my website)

  The House of Morgan

  Secret Crush

  Secret Baby

  Secret Bet

  Secret Wish

  Secret Dad

  Secret Heir

  Secret Tryst

  Secret Date

  Secret Romeo

  Secret Match (coming Feb 2019)

  Princes of Avce