ULTIMATE AGENTS

Excerpt

  BODYGUARD/HUSBAND
Harlequin Intrigue
November 2003

by
Mallory Kane

BODYGUARD/HUSBAND

by
Mallory Kane

Three men are dead because they loved her.  Now she has married a stranger who swears he can protect her from her deadly admirer.

Jack O'Hara is known as the Ice Man, but this job is personal.  Someone murdered his best friend, and he will do anything to bring down the killer, except fall in love.

Holly Frazier has a secret admirer, one who will stop at nothing to possess her.  She is forced to trust Jack to protect her from danger, but who will protect her from his sexy smile and smoldering kiss? 
   

Chapter One

Don't be him, don't be him, don't be him, Holly Frasier intoned as the man rushed into the airplane's cabin, his tie flapping and sweat dotting his brow.  Her heart thrummed in rhythm with the idling engines.  Paper crackled as her fists clenched around the in-flight magazine she held but hadn't looked at.

Was this the FBI agent who was supposed to meet her yesterday, then hadn't shown up? He looked too young and disorganized, more like a fresh eager MBA graduate than a man who made his living sneaking around and packing a gun.

Holly sat frozen, as if being perfectly still would render her invisible as he squinted at the seat numbers, paused beside her row, then passed her by. 

Taking her first breath since he'd stepped into the cabin, she looked at her watch.  Past time for take off.  Maybe the agent wouldn't show. With that thought her neck muscles immediately relaxed.  He'd already missed their wedding.

After waiting all morning at City Hall in Chicago as instructed, Holly had received a curt phone call from the FBI field office.  She was to board her late afternoon flight back to her home town of Maze, Mississippi, from Chicago as planned.  That was it.  No explanation.  No information about why the FBI agent hadn't shown up, or even if he would.

Holly couldn't decide which was stronger inside her, anger or relief.  The two weeks she'd just spent in Chicago had been absolutely miserable.  Although she'd done her best to enjoy the Physical Fitness symposium she'd attended, she hadn't been able to ignore the spectre of the meeting that loomed at the end of the two weeks--a meeting with an FBI Special Agent who thought someone had killed three men she'd cared about and was going undercover as her husband to catch the killer.

Holly wished she'd never shown the notes to her great-uncle, the Chief of Police of Maze.  Virgil McCray had taken one look at them and contacted the FBI.  At their request, Uncle Virgil had compiled a file on Holly which detailed the death of her husband six years ago, the disappearance of her fiancé last year, and Police Detective Danny Barbour's recent tragic death from an allergic reaction.

He'd also sent them photocopies of the three creepy, anonymous notes which had referenced the deaths. 

The flight attendant began closing the overhead compartments.  It was time for takeoff and the agent hadn't shown up. Holly's hopes rose, then quickly fell as another last minute straggler entered the cabin.  This one had a prep cut, a custom-tailored suit, and a scowl.  She'd hoped her new "husband" would at least be nice.  This guy looked like he ate toads for breakfast.

Don't be him, don't be him, she whispered silently, without much hope.  He was the television stereotype of an FBI agent.  Good suit, bad haircut, a suspicious bulge in his jacket.

The suspicious bulge beeped, and he pulled out a cell phone and spoke two curt words into it.  Then he insisted to the young woman a few rows in front of Holly that she was in his seat. 

Someone came in behind him.  Holly had a vague impression of long legs in jeans and a light-colored sport coat.  She tilted her head, trying to get a clearer view.  The businessman finally sat down, leaving Holly staring at the blue-jeaned guy. 

When she met his gaze, her heart lurched and her mouth went dry at the intense glacial gray of his eyes. 

No way was he the FBI agent.  He was too casual, too good-looking, too unconventional.  Weren't all FBI agents stamped from the same stiff wing-tipped mold? 

But his eyes were on her and the set of his jaw didn't go with his casual stance.  Dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.  She squeezed the ruined page of her magazine.  Straightening her back she deliberately returned his scrutiny.  He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders tapering to an admirable waistline.  As a physical therapist, Holly had a good eye for fitness, and it was obvious the T-shirt under his jacket hid an excellent set of abs.

He finally broke eye contact, his gaze casually sliding from one face to the next down the rows.  With a chill, she realized what he was doing.  He was checking out all the passengers.  She was sure he'd be able to identify each and every one of them later.  He started down the aisle, shifting his carry-on bag from his right shoulder to his left, his mouth tightening in a brief grimace that he quickly covered.  He moved with an offhand grace that fit his clothes better than it fit his knowing gaze.

She studied him warily as he approached.  His face was lean and strong, his beard-shadowed cheeks hollow.  Lines creased the corners of his mouth, but they didn't detract from his dark good looks. 

He turned his gaze back to her as he came closer, and she forgot everything except the ability of those eyes to freeze her in place as completely as a mouse under an eagle's stare.  She lowered her head, pretending to study her magazine, feeling his hot scrutiny like a sunlamp burning the top of her head.