Covert Makeover. Mallory Kane
I got these phone calls. I swear, Mr. Majors—”
A nurse knocked on the half-open door, then stepped into the room. “Mr. Johnson, the lab is here to take you down for your CT scan.”
Sean blew out a frustrated breath. Johnson was lying. But Sean didn’t have time to question him further. He needed to get over to Weddings Your Way and talk to Rachel Brennan about the second ransom note.
He stepped back from the bed as two hefty young men wheeled in a gurney. Behind them Sean saw his guard.
“I’ll talk to you later,” he tossed at Johnson as he rounded the gurney and headed out the door.
“Stick with him. Don’t let him out of your sight,” he muttered as he passed the guard.
The day was growing hot and bright as he headed toward Biscayne Bay, toward the sumptuous offices of Weddings Your Way.
A half hour later, Sean stepped up to the carved mahogany and beveled glass front entrance to Weddings Your Way. He glanced at the discreetly placed security camera, only one of several positioned strategically around Weddings Your Way. His brain flashed back to the scene that had greeted him the day Sonya was kidnapped. The parking area had been in chaos. There were police detectives, crime-scene personnel and paramedics crawling all over the place. All he’d been able to think about was his boss’s missing daughter and his injured security guard.
He had watched the tapes. Frustration swelled in his chest as he thought about how little evidence the police lab had been able to glean from the footage.
The tape showed Botero’s white limousine pulling up behind a late model sedan in front of Weddings Your Way. Johnson, dressed in chauffeur livery and obviously not happy about it, opened the rear door for Sonya, who, with her usual exuberant energy, bounced out smiling.
Then, a black limo had pulled up behind Botero’s and two men dressed in dark suits leaped out and grabbed Sonya. Johnson reacted immediately, but one of the men coldcocked him.
A well-built young man ran into the frame, straight toward the limo, but the black car had veered and jumped the curb, heading straight for Johnson.
Johnson rolled to one side, out of the frame of the camera as the limo barreled forward and hit a young woman. Sean now knew that the young woman was Caroline Graham and the man who’d rushed the limo was her brother, Alex.
At no time did either of the kidnappers show his face to the camera. It was as if they knew exactly where the blind spots were.
He eyed the state-of-the-art piece of equipment. It was the same brand he’d just purchased for Carlos’s estate. Cocking an eyebrow at the lens, he reached for the door handle. Weddings Your Way must be more successful than he realized.
He knew from his own wedding that they were expensive. But that kind of twenty-four-hour security cost more than his apartment rent for a year. Rachel Brennan had upgraded since the kidnapping. Too late for Sonya and Johnson, but smart.
Walking into the elegant reception area of Weddings Your Way was like walking onto the set of a famous Thirties-era movie. A young woman seated behind a delicately carved table greeted him.
“Good morning, sir. Welcome to Weddings Your Way. How may we assist you?”
“Rachel Brennan, please.”
The pretty young woman quickly surveyed him, taking in his custom-fitted summer suit and the state of his fingernails and hair.
“Sean Majors, Carlos Botero’s chief of security.” He handed her his card.
“Oh, of course Mr. Majors.” Her cheeks turned faintly pink. “Ms. Brennan is not available. Could I direct you to—” she glanced quickly at a desk calendar “—Ms. Brooks?”
Sean took in the large main salon of Weddings Your Way. Brooks. Which one was she?
To the right of the marble staircase, beyond the display of wedding gowns and veils, in a cozy alcove, a tall blonde dressed in black and white with black stockings encasing her long, shapely legs smiled at a petite redhead in bright pink sitting across from her.
As he watched, the two women stood.
Oh, yeah. The blonde with the legs was Sophie Brooks. How could he forget those legs? The sleek, sheer black stockings were an endangered species in Miami any time of year. They were extinct during the summer.
As the bride-to-be turned toward the door and the blonde sat and recrossed her legs, Sean admired the long expanse of thigh that was revealed below the short, tight skirt.
“Mr. Majors, I’ll let Ms. Brooks know—”
He waved his hand. “I see her.”
As he passed the redhead, she smiled pertly at him. He nodded without taking his eyes off Sophie Brooks.
Her straight blond hair hid her face as she wrote something in a leather notebook, then typed a few sentences into a small laptop that sat open on her desk.
Her phone buzzed as he approached. She answered it, listened for an instant, then slid her gaze up his body, giving her head a little toss as she met his eyes. “No, that’s fine. I’ll take him.”
Sean smiled.
She frowned, set the phone down and stood.
He heard the swish of ultrasheer nylon and to his surprise, his body reacted.
Damn. What the hell was wrong with him? He was working, and nothing interfered with his job. Certainly not a beautiful woman. Miami was filled with beautiful women. Besides, he had absolutely no interest in women right now, beautiful or otherwise. He had his job and his daughter. He didn’t need anything else.
But, oh, those silk-clad forever legs.
With a great deal of effort, he managed to keep his eyes on her face.
She smoothed her hands down her skirt and swallowed, her eyelids flickering. Did she sense the battle that was raging inside him?
Knock it off, Majors. His jaw tightened. He was here for one purpose. He had to let Rachel Brennan know about the second ransom note.
“Ms. Brooks?”
“I’m Sophie Brooks,” she said, holding out her hand.
He took it briefly. Her fingers were cool, which didn’t surprise him. He’d have been surprised if they’d been warm. She was the epitome of cool. Her demeanor was smooth, sophisticated, unflappable, except for that tiny movement of her throat when he’d met her gaze.
“Please sit,” she said.
He gestured. “After you.” Cursing at himself for his weakness, he stole one last glimpse of her crossing those legs.
She moved an album of wedding invitations from the small table in front of her.
“I need to speak to Rachel Brennan,” he said, eyeing the pink slipper chair, then sitting carefully on the edge of it and propping his elbows on his knees.
“Ms. Brennan isn’t here. Can I do something for you, Mr. Majors?”
“That depends. Are you familiar with the Botero kidnapping?”
Sophie Brooks’s gaze snapped to his, the clear blue of her eyes suddenly turning opaque. He could have sworn something inside her shut down.
She fiddled with the pen she held, then pulled a notepad toward her and began drawing swirling circles and loops on it.
“Yes, of course. An awful thing to have happen right outside our doors,” she commented, her eyes on the paper.
Doodling. Sean exhaled shortly. “Right. Not to mention how bad it must be for Sonya and her father and the people who were injured,” he said dryly.
For a second there, she’d reminded him of his ex-wife, self-absorbed and heartless. But he supposed he was giving the woman too much credit, expecting her to be concerned