Wanted: Bodyguard. Carla Cassidy

       Chapter One

      Lana Tyler silently crept out of the small bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief. Getting almost four-year-old Haley down for a nap was always a bit of a challenge and today had been no different, but finally, after two stories, a backrub and a drink of juice, the little girl had fallen asleep.

      Now if Lana were lucky she’d get a couple of hours to herself. As she walked through the living room she eyed the overstuffed hunter green sofa with a touch of longing.

      A nap for mommy wasn’t such a bad idea, but she had a big jewelry show coming up in two weeks, and the best time for her to work on her new pieces was when her daughter was either napping or tucked into bed for the night.

      A knock on the front door halted her progress from the living room to the kitchen, and she backtracked to see who was at the door.

      Two men stood on her porch, both clad in dark suits and wearing matching somber expressions that led her to believe they were either there to save her soul or to serve a warrant. She hadn’t broken any laws that she was aware of, and as far as she was concerned her soul was in pretty good shape.

      “Yes? May I help you?” she asked through the screen door.

      “Good afternoon, Mrs. Tyler. I’m FBI Agent Bill McDonald, and this is Agent Frank Morrel.” He opened a badge holder and held it up so she could see his official identification. “May we come in and speak with you?”

      FBI? For a moment a rush of hope filled her, hope that somehow they’d come to tell her the name of her husband’s killer, that finally, after twenty long months, she would have some closure.

      She looked carefully at the badges and assured herself they were real, then unlocked the screen door and opened it to allow the two agents into her home. “Is this about Joe? Have you finally caught the person who murdered him?”

      “Sorry, Mrs. Tyler, this is about another matter,” Agent McDonald replied.

      She frowned. “Another matter?” She gestured them into the living room, where they both sat on the sofa. “If this isn’t about Joe, then what’s it about?”

      “We need your help,” Agent Morrel said.

      “My help?” Lana sank into the chair facing the two men. What could the FBI possibly want with her? She was just an ordinary single mother working hard to get by.

      “We’d like to put an agent in your home for the next week or two. He’d be undercover, and we’d like him to pose as your new husband.”

      Lana stared at first one man and then the other. “Excuse me?” She must have misunderstood what he’d said. “Did you say husband?”

      Bill McDonald nodded and leaned forward. “We understand that you’re friendly with your neighbor Greg Cary.”

      Again a rivulet of surprise swept through Lana. “Yes, we’re friendly,” she agreed. “He’s been a good neighbor over the years and a huge support since my husband was murdered. Why, is he in some kind of trouble?”

      “I’m afraid we can’t go into any specific details,” Agent Morrel replied. “All we need from you is the okay to put an agent here in your home to do some surveillance work. We can assure you that there is absolutely no danger to you or your little girl. All we ask of you is that you go along with the charade of a marriage and don’t tell anyone the truth. Not family, not friends. It’s imperative that everyone believe Special Agent Riley Kincaid is your husband.”

      “Riley Kincaid?” She felt like a parrot, repeating random words as she tried to make sense of what exactly they wanted from her.

      Morrel nodded and looked at his wristwatch. “He’s a good man and has been assigned to this particular piece of the operation. He should be here within the next fifteen minutes or so.”

      Lana felt as if things were spinning way out of control. “Fifteen minutes? You certainly aren’t giving me any time to think about all this,” she said with a touch of resentment.

      “What’s to think about?” Agent McDonald asked. “We need you and your house, and as the widow of a law-enforcement official, we know you’ll want to help out, to do your civic duty.”

      What on earth was going on? What could Greg have done that would warrant FBI interest and an undercover operation? “Is there somebody I can call and speak to about all this?” she asked, reluctant to agree to anything before talking to somebody in authority, somebody not currently sitting on her sofa.

      Morrel nodded. “You can call Associate Deputy Director Chris McCall at the Kansas City field office.”

      Lana got up out of her chair and grabbed the cordless phone. It took her only minutes to get the phone number for the Kansas City FBI field