by DiAnn Mills
“For the first time in my life, I feel the path forward doesn’t have to be alone.”
“Not for a minute,” Grayson said. “I take my protective detail seriously.”
EPILOGUE
APRIL—7 MONTHS LATER
10:00 A.M. SATURDAY
Taryn stole a glimpse at the clock on the microwave. Three hours until Zoey’s fourth birthday party. The little girl had chosen a Hello Kitty theme, and even Buddy and Bentley wore bandannas with Hello Kitty on them. Not exactly masculine, but the two dogs would get over it.
Zoey couldn’t keep still, and Taryn was stressed. The party bags hadn’t been filled, and the meteorologists had threatened that the warm spring weather could bring rain. But the front and back yards sparkled with color. Joe had planted marigolds and purple petunias earlier in the week, and of course Zoey had to help.
Grayson had said he’d arrive between ten and ten thirty to pump up balloons. He’d also bring the cake—and she needed his support. They’d seen each other or spoken every day since September. He’d promised to be her best friend, and he’d never stopped proving his devotion. She valued his advice in selecting a home, a white stucco two-story with a huge backyard, and he’d surprised Zoey with a swing set and a playhouse. He’d gone with both of them to counseling . . . and two weeks ago when the adoption was finalized. Today he promised Zoey a trip to Chuck E. Cheese’s after her party.
The man witnessed her ups and downs, listened to her challenges of motherhood and her triumphs, and they’d talked about everything from selecting furniture to problems in the Middle East.
In short, she loved Grayson. How very good of God to take a tragedy and weave it into a blessing. The situation with his dad had tempered slightly, and they talked often, even though the conversations tested Grayson’s patience. The older man liked to grouse about his cancer treatment but was holding his own . . . and he adored Zoey.
Vince was in a hospital after a complete mental breakdown. Once he realized how he’d betrayed his country, he attempted suicide. And yet he still had charges to face for his actions. Grayson and Joe visited him every Sunday night.
The doorbell rang, and she hurried to answer it. Grayson stood in the doorway hosting an irresistible grin and holding a Hello Kitty birthday cake. He wore a pair of jeans like no other man on the face of the earth.
“You’re a lifesaver,” she said.
“I told you I’d pick up the cake.”
She took it from his arms. “I’m talking about the timing. I’m stressed to the max. Why I think a four-year-old’s birthday party has to be perfect is beyond me.”
“Bravo.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Admitting it is the first step.”
She started to add that his kiss made her dizzy, but she’d save it. “I have fresh coffee, and would you believe Zoey is cleaning her room?”
“That tells me she’ll need help, but I want to talk to you two together first.”
Taryn crossed her arms. “Is this about our private party at Chuck E. Cheese?”
He flashed his incredible blue eyes. “It’s about a party all right. I’ll get the munchkin.”
She poured coffee, her thoughts trailing to the party bags and the little girls from Zoey’s preschool class. Motherhood was fun but exhausting.
Grayson carried Zoey into the kitchen and lowered her beside Taryn. “I’ve got to do this before the birthday celebration.”
He bent to one knee, and Taryn smiled. He had a special gift for Miss Zoey. How considerate.
“Taryn, Zoey, I have something I want to ask you.” He opened his hand and displayed two small boxes.
Taryn’s heart beat triple time.
He reached for her hand. “You two are very special ladies to me. I can’t imagine going through a single day without seeing or talking to you. Guess I’m saying I love you very much. I know it’s only been seven months, but, Taryn, would you marry me?”
Her eyes widened. She didn’t need to think twice. “Yes, oh yes. I love you, and I’ll marry you. Right after the birthday party.”
He laid one of the boxes on the floor and opened the other for her to see. A glittering princess-cut diamond picked up the sun rays through the window behind them.
“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Grayson, you shouldn’t have gone to such extremes.”
“My girls are worth so much more.” He stood and kissed her, sending warmth and joy through every inch of her body.
Zoey tugged on his shirt. “What about me? Do I get to marry you too?”
He dropped to one knee again and took her hand. “Miss Zoey, would you let me marry Mommy Taryn and be your Daddy Grayson?” He opened the box to show a gold heart necklace that looked like two puzzle pieces.
“Ah, it fits together.” Zoey clapped her hands.
“Like us,” he said.
“Oh, Mr. Grayson, you shouldn’t have gone to such ’tremes.”
Not a muscle moved on his face. “Is that a yes?”
Zoey wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Best birthday ever.” She nibbled on her lip. “I think Mommy in heaven asked Jesus to give me a new mommy and daddy.”
Grayson picked her up and planted another kiss on Taryn’s lips. They all had a better tomorrow, and forever had a beautiful sound to it.
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
DEAR READER,
The idea for Firewall has been with me since 2007. It started as a what-if: what if a couple on their honeymoon were separated, a bomb exploded, and like Taryn, the young woman learned her husband had been using an alias? The story would not leave me alone, and the more I thought about it, the more the plot grew.
My friends at Houston FBI are amazing. They helped me with protocol and arranged phone calls with those who serve in the bomb squad and terrorism units. For their support, I’ll always be grateful.
A side note: strange dogs frighten me, especially German shepherds, and I wanted a heroine who was more courageous than I in that arena. Remember what Claire told Taryn about being approached by an unfriendly dog? Claire told the dog that Jesus loved him. I say the very same thing each time I encounter a strange, unfriendly dog.
I hope you enjoyed Taryn and Grayson’s story. My goal is always to entertain readers and inspire them to attempt great things!
Be blessed.
DiAnn
Expect an Adventure
DiAnn Mills
www.diannmills.com
www.facebook.com/diannmills
Keep reading for an excerpt from the next FBI: Houston novel, Double Cross, coming April 2015.
PROLOGUE
Special Agent Laurel Evertson had done everything required of her and more to gain Morton Wilmington’s affections. The gaudy diamond on her left hand proved it. She was prepared to end her undercover work tonight and walk away from this despicable role. All she had to do was find the flash drive that would send her fiancé to prison for life.
Morton reached into his closet and pulled out designer pants, shirt, and a sports jacket. “Babe, I’m taking a shower. Thought we’d grab dinner downtown before the play.”
“Perfect. I’m ready. So looking forward to tonight.” She despised the lies and the counterfeit love.
“What are you going to do? Read here?”
“I am. A new romance novel.” She pointed to a window seat that offered a scenic view of his condo’s pool, bathed in late-summer afternoon sun.
He chuckled, his deep-blue eyes smoldering. “As long as I’m your main man.”
“None other.” She kissed him lightly. “I’m turning on a little Andrea Bocelli to put me in the mood.”
“For what?”
“The book, the play, dinner, and us.”
“Another reason why I love you.” He disappeared into the shower.
The moment the sound of water met her ears, she confirmed his location. Four times she’d attempted to gain access to his safe, and each time the combination failed until she learned he chang
ed it daily. The code was stored on his computer, and she quickly located it.
She placed the novel on the bed and removed a framed picture of a tank at Fort Knox from the wall to reveal the safe. Odd for a bedroom, but Morton had served four years in the Army. Probably the only thing he could be proud of. She rested the picture against the nightstand while the digital combination bannered across her mind. Gripping her right fingers into her palm to steady herself, she pressed in the code, hoping Andrea Bocelli’s tenor voice drowned out the low click. If she was wrong, the alarm would blare throughout the condo, bringing Morton out of the shower along with his bodyguard from the kitchen.
Big business had made him one of the most powerful men in the country and certainly in Texas. Murder, money laundering, and organized crime were his best friends—legitimacy, his enemy. But he’d made one mistake: exposing it all on a flash drive. He’d bragged where it was hidden one night after drinking too much. It had taken her months to locate the safe and figure out how to gain access.
Was she any better than he, using another person for her own agenda?
She secured the flash drive and replaced the picture. Stealing her way to the bathroom door, she confirmed Morton was still showering. His laptop sat on his desk as though beckoning her to prove the FBI’s suspicions. She inserted the drive. Her heart pounded, ached.
“Babe, had an idea for our honeymoon,” he called from the bathroom.
“Great.” She breathed deeply to calm her scattered nerves. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Maybe.”
“You know I love surprises.” The details on the computer rose like rich cream—names, places, bank accounts. She ejected the device and slipped it into her shoe.
“I sent a check to MD Anderson this morning,” he said.
“For the kids or in general?”
“The kids. The fund-raiser we attended hit me hard.”
But you’d killed men who got in your way. “They stole my heart too.” She texted the FBI and Jesse, her partner, providing the code to the condo’s alarm system and telling them where the armed bodyguard was located. “Do you need anything?”
“That’s a loaded offer, but I’m good.”
He wouldn’t be so good once the FBI arrived for the takedown. “What time are we leaving?”
He stepped from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Is six okay?”
She smiled. “Sure.” Finally this charade would be over.
While discussing what Wilmington wanted to do for the children at MD Anderson, he dressed and she touched up her makeup. Her hands trembled.
“Are you okay?” he said. “You’re shaking.”
“Just hungry.” She hated this game. It made her feel as dirty as Morton.
“Want a glass of orange juice?”
“You’re so sweet. Thanks, I’d love it.”
He left the room and went down the hall to the kitchen. She checked her phone.
W r n place. Now
With a confident breath, she left the bathroom to join Wilmington. Only moments remained.
A crash sounded from the kitchen and seized her attention.
Morton swore. “Laurel, stay back. Call the bodyguards.”
She rushed from the bedroom, her hand fused to her Glock.
Gunfire exploded. One. Two. Three shots.
A bodyguard sprawled facedown on the floor, blood seeping from beneath him.
Jesse hid in the back of the kitchen by the utility room, trapped but able to fire.
“Morton, drop the gun.” She inched closer.
“You’re part of this?” His eyes and gun stayed fixed on Jesse. “You set me up?”
“It was my job.”
He called her vile names that would echo forever.
“FBI. Lower your weapon.” She moved closer. “Morton Wilmington, you’re under arrest. Agents are waiting.”
“You know how I operate. No one gets the best of me.”
“You can give orders to the prison guards.”
“You have a choice,” Morton said. “Put down your gun, or I’ll blow a hole right through this guy.”
“That works both ways.”
Morton swung a seething look at Laurel, allowing just enough time for Jesse to move into position.
Morton whirled and fired, sending Jesse backward to the floor, a bullet in his chest. Blood flowed across his body and onto the floor. His eyes wide-open . . . The cost of her undercover work.
Agents poured through the door. Morton dropped the gun and glared at her. “I have people everywhere. You can’t hide, Laurel. No matter how long it takes. You’ll pay in blood.”
CHAPTER 1
“IF HE DOESN’T MUZZLE his daughter, he’s going to lose the presidential nomination.”
Special Agent Meghan Connors cringed at the TV anchor’s analysis of Vice President Hall’s campaign, even though the statement rang with validity.
“Although early popularity polls indicated Hall to be a strong contender for the presidential race, his ratings are dropping daily.” The blonde reporting the news gave the camera a tilt of her head. “We are currently waiting for a statement from his office regarding Lindsay Hall’s appearance on The Barry Knight Show last evening, where she stated, ‘My father is a poor excuse for the office of president of the United States.’”
The screen flashed a clip of Lindsay Hall sporting cleavage and lots of leg.
“And she’s our new assignment?” Special Agent Bob Lawson eased back in his chair and stuck his thumbs in his pants pockets. “I’ve heard she swears like a convict. Smacked a couple of agents in the face.”
Meghan kept her opinions in check. She focused on the TV mounted in the corner of the coffee shop, not far from the White House. Thank goodness the shop was empty except for the barista moving to whatever was playing on his iPod.
The news anchor continued her report. “Take a look at Lindsay Hall’s escapade three nights ago.” The screen reverted to footage taken in a local nightclub. Lindsay toasted the camera with a bottle of beer. Clearly inebriated, she sat in a booth enjoying media attention. The news anchor shook her head with a smile, an obvious display of her political preference. “Many are asking, ‘If Vice President Hall cannot control his daughter, how can he effectively run our country?’”
Ouch. That nailed the situation. Meghan wrapped her fingers around the loop of her coffee cup and walked out onto a patio filled with umbrella tables and chairs. A steady mist filled the afternoon heat with humidity. She needed to focus on her new assignment—and the challenges ahead. Protecting the VP’s daughter was supposed to be a promotion. If she failed, this could mean a permanent stall in her career.
Sensing Bob standing beside her, she turned to give him her views about their situation. “We’re made of better stuff than the agents dismissed from Lindsay’s protection team.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
“They let her manipulate them. Plain and simple.”
“But we’re not babysitters. We’re special agents for the Secret Service.”
Meghan didn’t know the agents who’d been reassigned as a result of Lindsay’s latest antics, but Bob had called them friends. She took a sip of her strong coffee, ignoring the raindrops gaining momentum. “Escorting her to the TV station and not informing the vice president was poor judgment. Her statements severely damaged the VP’s image. Maybe even his chances of securing the party’s nomination.”
“Everything she says and does chips at his ability to lead the country. The Barry Knight Show and that entire TV network are out to crucify him and the party.”
“So we’re back to our assignment.” Meghan stepped under the coffee shop’s canopy to avoid the rain. “I’m committed to protecting her, and I know you are too.”
“I have to be.” Bob set his cup on an empty table. “Taking a bullet for her would qualify as above and beyond.” He pressed his lips. “But that’s what we do, right? Can’t let personal opinions get in the wa
y of duty.”
“Absolutely, and I’m sure there are plans to curb her actions. In fact—” Her phone rang, and she reached inside her shoulder bag. A quick glimpse told her it was her supervisor, Tom Warrington, from the Secret Service office.
“Bob there with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need both of you in my office at 1400. Ash Zinders, the SAIC for this assignment, needs to brief you and the other agents assigned to the protectee.”
Meghan slipped her phone back into her shoulder bag and relayed the information.
Bob whistled. “Good old A2Z isn’t wasting any time.”
The nickname for the special agent in charge assigned to Lindsay Hall’s protection detail wasn’t a title any agent would say to his face. He was known for his obsession with detail and his domineering personality. Meghan hadn’t met the agent, and she didn’t look forward to his browbeating.
“It really bothers me that she now has six agents protecting her when any other VP family member has three.” Bob pulled a dollar from his wallet and anchored it beneath his cup. “Did I say I regret accepting this assignment? Hasn’t been two hours since the call.”
“There’s a reason, Bob. We were chosen because the VP needed agents who can get the job done. But I question the number of us too, and what it means.”
The potential to fulfill her dreams, the circumstances surrounding Lindsay Hall’s unpredictable behavior, and the nightmare of working under Ash Zinders had Meghan wondering if the challenges ahead would be worth it.
Ash believed in Vice President Hall, known as the Shield by the Secret Service. He respected his commitment to his country and his devotion to his family. Books had been written about his political views, and one had been on the bestseller list for six months. How could a man of such integrity have a daughter who was a source of embarrassment for the whole country? International media laughed at her irresponsibility, and critics used her for comic relief in their opening monologues. Four years of protecting Lindsay Hall, and the situation had grown worse. Why couldn’t the VP and his wife control their daughter’s behavior? Ship her off to the Peace Corps, Siberia . . . anywhere but in the media’s playground.