Protecting the Innocent. Cassie Miles
“No,” Roman said.
In the dim glow from the dashboard, he saw her thoughtful frown. “I don’t get it.”
“Neither do I.” But Roman had given the issue some thought. “Anya participated in a fertilization experiment at Legate. That was how she conceived her son. Slater might feel a proprietary connection.”
“How does Mrs. Parrish feel about this?”
“She doesn’t know.” Roman frowned. None of this made sense. “By bringing her son to Legate, she thinks she’s following her late husband’s wishes.”
“Why?”
“Jeremy made a provision in his will saying he wanted his son to attend the Legate school, starting when he was five.”
“Do you believe he’d do that?”
“Not really,” Roman said. “If his signature on the will is a forgery, how would I find out?”
“Get me the original. Our experts can verify.”
That wouldn’t be easy. He didn’t want to alarm Anya by asking to see the document. “Even if the will was forged, it doesn’t explain why Slater is so fixated on Charlie. True, the boy is smart, but there are plenty of whiz kids out there. Why Charlie?”
“Maybe there’s a connection in Anya’s family tree. Should we run a trace?”
“Not necessary.” Anya’s privacy had been invaded enough, and he knew just enough about her father to realize that an investigation could be a problem.
Maureen swept her thick auburn hair off her forehead and fastened it at her nape with a clip. Though her makeup was sultry, her attitude was all business. As always, when Roman allowed his gaze to wander over her body, he wondered where—in that tight-fitting outfit—she kept her gun.
“Bottom line,” Maureen said. “Are these two people in danger?”
“Not Charlie. He’ll be pampered like a prince.”
“And his mother?”
He’d given Anya’s safety a great deal of consideration and had decided there was no immediate peril. “She’s safe for now. Slater won’t let anything happen to her that might traumatize her son.”
“So why did you contact me?”
“I wanted to give you a heads up,” Roman said. “If it turns out that I’m wrong and Anya is threatened, I’m pulling the plug.”
“Sorry to hear that. Your inside info has given us excellent leads.”
“I’m not cut out for undercover work,” he said. “I feel like crap when I’m encouraging somebody with one hand and betraying them with the other.”
“Make no mistake,” she said. “You’re doing a good thing. Because of your information, we’ve been able to sever terrorist plots, stop an attempted takeover of the government in Burma and shut down an illegal munitions plant.”
“For the greater good,” he said in ironic reference to the Legate motto.
“It still amazes me,” she said. “Who would have guessed that all those international bad guys consulted a think tank?”
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said. “In the future, you might not be the best person for me to contact.”
Her pearly teeth flashed in the dark. “Does this mean you’re breaking up with me?”
There had never been anything between them except for CIA business. “I can’t be seen going on dates. My current assignment at Legate is to make Anya happy. You know, to romance her.”
“Oh, ugh!” Right before his eyes, the hard-boiled CIA agent turned into a girly girl. Her voice rose an octave. “That’s so creepy, Roman. How can you lead that poor woman on?”
“As if you’ve never used your physical assets to get what you wanted?”
“This doesn’t sound like you.” She peered through the dim dashboard light into his eyes. “You hate deception.”
He returned her gaze. “Anya won’t be hurt.”
“How can you say that? You’re planning to lead her down the garden path, to promise her a rose garden, to—”
“I won’t lie to her,” Roman said. “Anya will not be hurt. Never again.”
“Oh, my God.” Maureen gasped and leaned back in her seat. “You really care about this woman.”
She had no idea how much he cared.
AT CHARLIE’S BEDSIDE, Anya leaned down to kiss her son’s forehead. He was sound asleep at nine o’clock—a bit early, but this had been a hectic day. “Sleep well, sweetpea.”
If he’d been awake, he might have complained about the nickname. But now her son was quiet, breathing steadily, innocent as a little blond angel. She tucked the covers around his shoulders, closed the door to his bedroom and went downstairs.
This part of the day was Anya’s alone time when she could reflect. For the past month, her private deliberations had focused on one thing: Should she or shouldn’t she sign the contract?
Finally, that decision-making process was over. The ink on the document was dry, and it seemed that she’d done the right thing for Charlie. But why did her heart feel so heavy?
She stood in the center of the living room and slowly turned in a circle. The cottage wasn’t exactly the way she would have decorated, but close. The earth-tone furniture was better quality than her own sofa and chairs in Denver. The bland artwork on the wall didn’t appeal to her, but she loved the wall of bookshelves separating the living room and a modern kitchen with shiny new appliances.
She couldn’t complain about the living accommodations. This cottage—which was equal to the square footage of her rented house in Denver—was cozy and comfortable. And free.
Slowly, she turned again. Her gaze flitted from the plasma-screen television hanging on the wall to the charming stone fireplace to the welcoming fruit basket on the side table. This wasn’t the life she’d imagined for herself. It felt…too organized.
Anya wanted more adventure. An impulsive weekend vacation. A surprise visit from friends. And she doubted that unplanned excitement was included in the Legate program. Spontaneous would only be a word on Charlie’s vocabulary list.
Might as well make the best of it. She padded around the main floor, turning off the lamps, leaving one burning in case Charlie got up during the night and wandered. At the door to the cottage, she doused the porch light and stepped outside into the darkness. The cottage was surrounded by a forest of landscaping, giving the impression of seclusion. She couldn’t see the gray stone mansion from here, but one of the outbuildings was only twenty yards away from her roofed porch that stretched the length of the cottage.
It was a beautiful night. The autumn breeze held a chill that stimulated her senses. She cinched the sash on her flannel robe more tightly and inhaled. The air was moist with a woodsy scent of cedar and pine. If she stood very still, she could hear the faint echo of the bay surf.
At the edge of the trees, she noticed movement from something much larger than a squirrel. “Who’s there?”
A man stepped away from the shadows. “Good evening, ma’am.”
She shouldn’t be surprised. There were several other people who lived on these grounds. “Hello. Have we met?”
“No, ma’am.”
As he came closer, she saw the dark blue uniform worn by Legate’s security corps. His trousers were tucked into his boots, military-style. There was a holster attached to his belt, and he carried something else, held tight to his side.
“My