The Paris Assignment (12 page)

That single word was written in elegant script in the center of the card. She flipped it over, but there was nothing else to suggest a sender or even a maker of the beautiful paper.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the small box and tore off the wrappings. As she lifted the lid, the small kernel of fear that had wrapped itself around her rib cage with hard iron fists squeezed.

Hard.

A small card, in matched material to the larger stock in the envelope, nestled in a hank of chestnut-colored hair, wrapped at the end with an elegant black bow.

The words on the card were unmistakable.

Elizabeth Abigail McBane.

Her mother.

The kitchen seemed to tilt as Abby sank to the floor, the thick wood of the cabinets the only support for her back.

It wasn’t possible.

“Abby?”

She glanced up to see Campbell, clad in workout gear, as he barreled through the swinging door toward her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, willing her to look at him.

Felt his penetrating stare as he kept calling her name.

“Abby. What is it? Talk to me.”

On a small mewl that didn’t even sound quite human, she pointed to the box that had fallen from her hands.

Saw the hair and the card where both lay on the floor.

Remembered the image of her mother she kept in her mind’s eye, the soft wave of chestnut hair that perpetually framed her face as familiar as it was distinctive.

Recognized the words that taunted even as they provided evidence of the box’s contents.

And as Campbell picked up the locks of hair and the card, she felt the world go black around her.

Chapter 9

C
ampbell dropped the box and its contents once more as he reached for Abby. Even with the layers of bulletproof vest, T-shirt and sweatshirt, her body was frail beneath his large hands.

“Abby. Can you hear me?”

She blinked a few times and another soft groan echoed from her lips before her head lolled back against her shoulder.

“Come on, Abby. Come back to me.” He added a bit of gentle pressure to his sharp words before reaching behind her to give her head some support.

After one more rapid set of blinks, she opened her eyes and Campbell was rewarded with a deep stare from those chocolate depths. He saw the moment the reality of what she’d just discovered in the package registered as she leaped toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, Campbell.”

Her forward movement was enough to push him off balance and he caught her as he fell backward from his crouched position. “Shh. It’s okay.”

He crooned the words as he kept a light pressure on her back, rubbing circles through the thick padding.

“Why is this happening?”

“I don’t know.” The truth of those words ate at him.

Who was doing this to her? And why couldn’t he get a handle on the source of the problem?

He was good at his job, damn it. He knew technology. Yet this guy—and the fingerprint on the technology, coupled with this latest assault had him increasingly thinking her assailant was male—was practically invisible.

His gaze landed once more on the box. A very, very real gambit.

Tangible.

“Abby.” He pulled on her arms so she was looking at him. “Where did the box come from?”

A light sheen of tears filled her eyes before spilling over onto her cheeks. “It was in my bag. Part of yesterday’s mail.”

“The mail Stef gave you before you left?”

“Yes.” She rubbed at her eyes, realization dawning with the truth of his words. “Oh, no. No, Campbell. She didn’t do this.”

“We can’t be sure.”

“She didn’t.”

“Then we need to rule her out. Even if she’s not doing it intentionally, she’s likely a conduit of some sort.”

“But she can’t be.”

“Come on, baby. Think about it.” The endearment was out before he could snatch it back and as it fell off his lips, he didn’t want to pull it back.

It felt good.

Comfortable.

“She’s got complete access to you. She’s not all that confident on her own. Someone could have used her to get to you.”

“That’s not fair.” He saw the light of battle spark in her gaze and much preferred it to the shell-shocked victim he walked in on in a puddle on the kitchen floor. “So she’s a little mousy. That doesn’t mean she’s sold me out.”

“She’s got a new boyfriend.”

“So?”

“Have you met him?”

“No, and I wouldn’t expect to.”

“Not once, in all the time they’ve been dating. He never came to pick her up?”

She shook her head as she sat back, reaching for her long fall of hair to pull it up in a ponytail. “That’s not the type of relationship we have.”

“She’s your assistant. She knows when you go to doctor’s appointments, presumably. That doesn’t lend itself to a certain sort of personal connection?”

A light blush suffused her cheeks and even while he wondered at it, he couldn’t deny the color brought life back into her features.

“That’s just not me. I’m not warm and buddy-buddy with people.”

“You and Kensington could have fooled me.”

“That’s different. She’s my friend, not my employee.” She stood and began to pace the room. “I took the helm of McBane very early. I never wanted anyone to think less of me because of my age, so I cultivated a very cool exterior.”

“Let no one in.” Campbell got to his feet but stood in place as she paced.

“And don’t give them a chance to second-guess me because I don’t come off as polished and professional. That extended to my personal staff. I’ve never been mean to Stef or to anyone. In fact, she’s been well-rewarded for her service to McBane.”

“But you’re not friends.”

“No.” Abby shook her head. “No, we’re not. And I’m not sure that speaks all that well of me.”

Campbell watched, fascinated, as that veneer of control she maintained so well fell back into place while she used her mind to work through the problem.

Had he ever met anyone like her?

The small, traitorous voice that was quick to use Sarah as a comparison to any woman of his acquaintance stayed surprisingly silent as he stared at Abby.

The truth was, he hadn’t.

And as he watched Abby battle her past choices he couldn’t help but think her coworkers had missed out.

She was a beautiful woman, but that was only the external package. The woman inside was warm and compassionate, bright and thoughtful.

She was, in a word,
amazing.

And he wanted her.

Whatever adrenaline-fueled response had him dragging her into his arms when he entered the kitchen and saw her crumpled there had shifted as the moments danced out between them. It transformed into a heavy need that settled in his core and wouldn’t let go.

With deliberate movements, he walked toward her. Her pacing had slowed and she stared at him from her perch against the large island counter that dominated the center of the room. Where before he’d seen fear and a hopeless anxiety that speared him clean through, he now saw a vital awareness that seemed to light her up from the inside.

“Campbell.” His name fell from her lips on a whisper as he settled one hand on either side of her, effectively caging her against the counter.

He couldn’t hold back the small smile. “Abby.”

“This probably isn’t a good idea.”

He nodded, considering, even as his body demanded he place his hands on her. Demanded he press his hard form against her core. Demanded he taste the unique blend of sumptuous flavors that were only her. “Probably not.”

“None of it means I don’t want you.”

“Very good.” He bent his head and nipped her lips. “Because I want you, too.”

And then there were no more words as they both closed the space between them. He leaned in, fully capturing her mouth with his while she gripped his hips, pulling him more closely into her body.

The gentle pressure of her lips against his gave way as he slipped his tongue inside to mate with hers and felt the rush of need when she met his thrust with one of her own. The tender moments spread out between them as the kiss intensified. Campbell put every ounce of himself into the act, willing her to understand he’d protect her.

Desperate for her to know that he’d give his life to ensure she was safe.

The hands at his waist were restless before she placed them on his lower back and pulled him more determinedly against herself. He mimicked the sexy motion and drew her closer, reveling in the lithe lines of her slender form.

And as he got an armful of the heavy body armor, the moment broke, shattering into pieces.

What was he thinking?

She’d been threatened. She was scared. And she needed his help and his full focus to deal with the faceless pursuer who was intent on doing her harm.

She needed his protection, not to be the object of his latest sexual fantasy.

“Campbell? What is it?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

She placed a hand against his cheek. “We both want it.”

“And that’s the problem. You’re wearing a vest for protection, for heaven’s sake. We can’t do this now. Can’t lose focus.”

The words had their desired effect as she dropped her hand. “Fine.”

He’d nearly pulled away. Had almost dragged himself from the warm, willing woman in his arms when the bleak chill in her eyes stilled him. Bending his head, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I need to focus on keeping you safe.”

“You are keeping me safe.”

The discarded box at his feet suggested otherwise. “Not safe enough.”

With deliberate movements, he pulled away from her, then bent to pick up the box and the note. “I’m going to meet with the security team. I suspect they’re going to want to talk to you about Stef.”

She nodded as resignation painted her face in a subtle mask. “I suppose so.”

If she was mad at him for stopping them from going any further, he could live with that.

Keeping her mad would keep her sharp.

And if the escalating threats were any indication, neither of them could afford to fall off their game.

* * *

Abby had always loved the Paris house. While many chose Avenue Foch for its globally known swank factor, she’d selected the house for its proximity to her favorite park in Paris—the Bois de Boulogne. The beauty of the land was absolute, but it was its history that fascinated.

And it gave her immeasurable pleasure to think she ran the same paths people had traversed for centuries.

The image of her favorite path faded in her mind as she stared at the four walls of her study and walked the lead security guy—David was his name—through the events of the previous day and how the package came to be in her possession.

Yes, her assistant had included it on the heap of things Abby had shoved in her bag before departing for the airport.

No, she didn’t think Stef could possibly be responsible.

Yes, she had the numbers for McBane’s security team as well as the mail room. It would be easy enough to trace the delivery, if in fact, there had been one.

And then the hardest question of all.

Could it possibly be her mother’s hair?

Despite his emotional distance in the kitchen, Campbell held her hand in his throughout all of David’s questions. His touch reassured, even as she felt her world crumble around her.

“My mother was killed in an accident when I was five. I’ve never had any reason to think otherwise.”

“What sort of accident?” David’s question was expected, but even so Abby felt it like a gunshot.

“She was hit by a taxi in Manhattan. It was a rainy day, she tried to cross at a light and a cab driver came out of nowhere and hit her. The man suffered for years over the accident.”

Abby knew because the man’s wife had contacted her years ago to express her husband’s lifelong grief. In all the years since it had happened, she had never thought there was anything more than the very sad news that we all had a finite number of days in our lives and her mother’s had been up.

She’d long thought it was one of the things that had bonded her and Kensington so quickly when they’d met at school. The grief that something so sudden brings on leaves a deep, dark scar. But it had been through their shared experience that she and Kensington had forged a friendship that was rock-solid.

“I think it would be best to contact Abby’s administrative assistant.” Campbell looked at his watch. “It’s about three in the morning. We can either send a cop over now or have her questioned in the morning.”

“Please, please let it wait.” Abby knew it was wishful thinking, but she still couldn’t see Stef holding any responsibility for the things that had been happening. And if Stef were responsible...

Well, then it could wait a few hours, Abby resolved as she stood up.

“I’ve got twenty people arriving in the house in about eight hours. Caterers are due here before lunch and I’ve got a number of preparations I need to see to in the meantime.”

Abby also thought of the visit she and Campbell wanted to make next door and knew she was rapidly running out of time.

“Of course, Ms. McBane.” David nodded, then issued a series of instructions to his team.

“I’ll also need you all to be a bit less obtrusive when the caterers are here. I don’t wish for gossip to start or for my guests to believe there is anything wrong.”

David looked as if he were about to argue, but a sharp, pointed glance from Campbell had the man nodding instead. “Understood.”

Satisfied he did understand, Abby made her excuses and left Campbell and David to continue working through strategy. She knew she still had to take the team through the guest list—a final precaution that matched photos with the names of her attendees so the security team had a ready understanding of who was who—but she resolved to do it later after she had a chance to settle her racing thoughts.

Climbing the stairs to her bedroom, she was anxious to shed the bulletproof vest. The already-restrictive vest had grown nearly overwhelming as she talked about threats, her mother’s death and the increasing suspicion that hung over her trusted secretary’s head.

And for the first time in nearly an hour, Abby breathed a sigh of relief when she loosened the stays of the protective garment. She shed the rest of her clothes and stepped into a hot shower, the steamy stall and the hot beads of water going a long way toward clearing her mind.

Reaching for the shampoo, she lathered up and began scrubbing her hair. The long strands sifted through her fingers, a vivid reminder of what she’d opened in the kitchen.

As she rinsed the soap from her hair, Abby’s eyes flew open in shock and awareness.

The package she opened was full of shiny, sleek hair. Could something taken from a woman who died a quarter of a century ago have held up that well?

She knew hair lasted, but to look as if it had been cut and preserved neatly for that long?

She’d have to tell Campbell. Get his thoughts. But it seemed as if the package was more scare tactic than real message. As the shampoo slid from her head and neck to swirl down the drain, Abby could only hope so.

At the thought of Campbell, thoughts of her mother receded and she was surprised to find their early morning conversation take center stage. He’d suffered so much pain at such a young age, with the loss of his friend Sarah as well as his parents. The reality of that tugged at her and where she’d felt interest before she felt something even deeper.

Empathy.

And attraction, McBane.
Don’t forget that one.

And hoo-boy, did they have that in spades.

She could still conjure up the sense memory of his lips against hers, his body pressed intimately to her, hard angles against the softer curves of her figure.

He’d pulled back—pulled away—but she’d sensed his need. Knew her own matched his.