Chloe awakened with an elbow in her ribs.
She turned over and found herself nose to nose with Jack
Quaid, the man she'd been crazy about since the summer
she'd turned sixteen but had only connected with days ago
when the mob had pegged her for assassination.
Within hours of a drive-by shooting attempt, the press had
dubbed her the Bulletproof Princess. Laughable, because
all she had done was duck. Yet if she hadn't, it'd be her
funeral as well as Marcus's that half of New York City
attended today.
Jack's soft snoring stopped, but his eyes remained closed.
She stroked his face, his black hair curling on his neck,
the seemingly perpetual five o'clock shadow stubbling his
strong jaw, and pressed gentle kisses to his wide brow. He
didn't rouse, and she looked beyond him to the clock on
the bedside table. Marcus's funeral wasn't until two, but
she and Emma Bosworth had a meeting with Renee at the
Gotham Rose Club at ten.
Chloe crawled out from beneath the luxurious covers and
walked to the bath, freshened up, then stepped into a
closet that was half the size of her enormous bedroom and
wondered. "What does one wear to one's fiancé" s funeral?"
Normally, answering that wouldn't be difficult. But
considering her fiancé had sacrificed her to the mob to
save himself, had drugged and kidnapped her to force her
into marriage to save her life because the mob had a rule
against harming wives, and then had attempted to murder
Jack by burying him in the concrete foundation being
repaired in her building, Eleanor Towers, Chloe wasn't
sure what to think or feel much less what to wear. All of
which explained why she had a meeting with Renee Dalton-
Sinclair, her boss and mentor. Renee would help her decide
the best course of action for minimal damage and exposure.
Minimal exposure was essential to the Gotham Rose Club. Of
over 200 members who had joined the G.R.C. in its four-
year history, Renee had hand-selected nearly twenty to
become agents in a top-secret spy organization. While the
other Roses didn't know the agency existed, the agent Rose
speculated that it had originated high in the halls of
Congress or perhaps even in the White House. Renee
selected each recruit for a specific reason — Chloe for
her title, of course, because it gained her access to
places and people mere money couldn't touch. A fact proven
on her last two assignments by aristocratic arrests.
The Rose agents were tasked with information and evidence
gathering to affect the arrests of high-society criminals
who thought they were too rich, too powerful or too smart
to be held accountable for their crimes. Once the Roses
had done their part, overt authorities such as the police
and FBI stepped in and made arrests.
Chloe showered and lathered with the scented signature
soap she'd created on her last shopping trip in Paris. She
inhaled its spicy scent. She'd chosen the distinctive
chompas and patchouli scent to remind her that she wasn't
the spoiled heiress her mother believed, but a strong and
successful businesswoman inspired by Eleanor Roosevelt.
Eleanor had had a fondness for patchouli.
Turning, she let the hot water beat the stress from
between her shoulders. Okay, so she had trust issues with
men who, until Jack, had never failed to disappoint her.
They all wanted her money or her title. Even men like
Marcus, who had fortunes of their own. But she stayed
grounded and focused on what really mattered. That's the
reason she'd bought Eleanor Towers and had been devoted to
restoring it. It was physical evidence of her commitment
to herself to live a life of substance.
Chloe closed her eyes and remembered the morning Madison
Taylor-Pruitt, her sister Rose and a real-estate magnate
had called.
"I found it, Chloe. The perfect building for you. It
overlooks Central Park and has a wonderful history."
"Tell me about it."
A lilt settled in Madison's voice. "When Eleanor Roosevelt
was working on the Human Rights agreement at the United
Nations, she stopped in front of this building and told
reporters that women weren't weak or ignorant, they didn't
lack courage, and every woman should aspire to leave the
world better than she found it."
"I remember reading that report!" Excitement flooded
Chloe. This had to be the right building for
her. "Everyone doubted Eleanor would get sixty-four
nations to sign the agreement, but she did, and it changed
the world."
"I still think it's a bit idealistic," Madison said, ever
blunt. "But way too many in our circle turn cynical young
and stay jaded for life, so I guess we need it."
"It's realistic, Madison. It happened."
Madison paused, then skepticism tinted her tone. "Do you
really believe every woman changes the world?"
Normally Chloe would keep her opinions to herself, but
Madison had asked with a flicker of hope, and Chloe wanted
to nurture it. They'd developed a bond of trust, and while
a lot had improved in Madison's life, she still grieved
her best friend, Claire's, death. That and the subsequent
investigation into Madison's family company had led to
Renee recruiting Madison into the spy world of the Gotham
Rose Club. "I believe every woman changes someone's world
for better or worse. If they realize it, maybe they'll try
harder to make sure the change is for the better."
"Mmm... So do you want to see the building?"
"I want to buy it."
"It needs to be gutted, Chloe. There've been a lot of
haphazard modifications."
"So I'll gut it and then restore it."
"That'll be expensive." Madison reeled off a sum that most
would find staggering.
Chloe smiled. "Lock it down. I want it."
She'd signed the papers within weeks, buying the building
from Marcus, which was how they'd gotten close. She'd then
renamed it Eleanor Towers. In the months since, the work
had been brisk. The building had a long way to go to
regain its glory, but it would get there. Chloe loved
Eleanor Towers, and it showed.
Then Marcus had gotten the mob involved. Dead bodies,
trying to seal Jack into its foundation... She leaned her
forehead against the limestone wall, held the scented soap
against her chin and inhaled again, then rinsed, wrapped
herself in a towel and returned to her closet. If Marcus
weren't already dead, Chloe would kill him for making Jack
a target to get to her.
Jack appeared at the closet door. "You okay, Chloe?" Torn
between tears and a hysterical laugh, she nodded. "I don't
know whether to hate him, feel sorry for him, wish him
alive so I could kill him myself, or what, Jack."
He walked over and put his arms around her. "I'd say any
and all of it is valid, honey." He pressed a kiss to her
neck. "Anything but you loving him."
"I don't love him." She looked up at Jack. "At one time, I
thought I did, but I didn't and I don't."
"Are you going to the funeral?" Jack stood aside while she
stretched for a black Vera Wang suit.
"I think I have to," she said, searching the rows of shoes
for the right pair. "Going raises fewer questions than not
going." Sighing, she looked over at Jack. "I'm dressing
for it. Emma and I are meeting with Renee to discuss it."
He nodded. "I wish I could be there for you."
She sent him a look laced with gratitude. "I appreciate
it, but that would just create another scandal. Erik will
be with me," she said, referencing her brother. At least,
last night on the phone he'd promised to be there. Heaven
knew if he'd actually show up.
Jack grunted. "If he remembers to put in an appearance,
you'll end up having to look out for him."
Erik wasn't responsible but, to their parents, he was the
Chosen One while Chloe was a dismal failure at being "the
perfect princess." Only two years separated them. Two
years, and a world of maturity. "He's gotten a little
nicer lately. I'm not sure why." Maybe because she'd been
dodging bullets?
"He has to be trying to impress a woman. Nothing else
motivates him."
Because that was true, Chloe sighed. "Probably."
Jack walked out and around the corner. She heard him turn
on the spigot. Water splashed. "I'd feel better if Renee
were going with you," he called.
"She is," Chloe said, sitting at her vanity to do her
makeup.
"Emma, too. I'm picking her up on the way to meet Renee."
Minutes later Jack's cell rang and she heard him take the
call. "Quaid," he said, then paused. "This is a really bad
time for me to leave, Henry. Isn't there someone else who
can cover —" He waited again, then added. "All right. No,
if his wife is due to deliver any day, he can't very well
go. I'll be there by ten."
Chloe's heart sank. Jack was leaving. He was a reporter
for Architectural Restorations, which is how they'd
reconnected. He'd given her some free press on the
restoration of Eleanor Towers. But he also owned a chain
of newspapers and did a lot of field reporting, including
a fabulous series on Africa.
She finished dressing then slipped into a pair of basic
black Jimmy Choos and debated wearing a hat with a
gossamer veil to obscure her expressions from the press.
"Damn," Jack said, obviously having ended his call. He
stepped out from around the corner wearing only a towel,
his broad chest glistening.
Chloe's breath hitched. "You have to leave." Sadness
stretched and yawned inside her.
He sent her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm
sure you heard —"
"The daddy needs to be home to greet the new baby."
"Exactly." Jack looked down at her, worry in his gray eyes.
"I have to go to London for two weeks. When I get back,
we'll find out who killed Marcus. These men aren't playing
games, Chloe. Promise me you won't investigate on your
own."
They'd hired a pro to kill her once already, to force
Marcus to bury evidence on a case. Expecting them to tie
up loose ends with a second attempt wasn't a stretch. "I
know. They could decide they still want me dead."
Jack rubbed her arms, shoulder to elbows. "So you'll leave
it for when I return?"
"If I'm given a choice." At his six-six to her five-seven,
she had to crank her neck to look up at him. "But if they
come after me again, I'm going into full attack-mode,
Jack. I'll have to if I want to stay alive."
"If that happens, you call me immediately and I'll come."
So would the other Rose agents — not that she could
mention them to Jack. Instead, she nodded, touched at his
willingness to put himself in harm's way for her. In the
past, she'd cared for three men and all three had betrayed
her. But even at sixteen, when she'd first felt a sizzling
special attraction to Jack, she'd known that what was
between them was a significant, once-in-a-lifetime
experience. Now that they were together, she intended to
move forward without fear of her past mistakes and errors
in judgment. She trusted him completely. And of all the
things she found attractive, respected and admired in
Jack, trusting him ranked most important. With her
history, she didn't think even love could compete with it.
On tiptoe, she kissed him. "You look pretty good in a
towel." She tugged its edges and it slid down his thighs
to the floor. "But even better without it."
Chloe sat in the back of her limousine, staring at the
royal flag furling in the wind on the front of the car.
She'd prefer to travel incognito, but her mother would
consider it scandalous for her to drive herself to
Marcus's funeral, and today Chloe just didn't have the
extra stamina to fight all her own demons and her mother,
too.
The meeting with Renee would be challenging enough. "You
okay back there, Princess?"
Chloe stared at the back of Frank's head. His gray hair
was reminiscent of Albert Einstein's wired look. And
though frail, Frank had an indulgent mischievous sparkle
in his eye when he looked at Chloe. So long as he drew
breath, Frank would put Chloe first. He had been her
protector and her driver her entire life. "I'm fine."
"Uh-huh."
She grimaced. Fine? Had she honestly said she was fine? To
Frank? She needed a serious internal-radar check. In her
position, only a fool would be fine. "I'm sorry. I'm
coping."
"That's better," he said, clearly glad to get the
truth. "But don't you worry. Mrs. Dalton-Sinclair will
help you set matters to right."
She would. Renee always had been wonderful to Chloe. Frank
drove to Sutton Place, a section on New York City's East
Side, where Emma Bosworth stood waiting.
Wrapped in a velvety black cashmere coat and standing next
to her bruiser of a doorman, she looked like a tiny, fresh-
faced angel, gentle and approachable. Unlike Chloe's
brown, chin-length bob, Emma's hair was long, naturally
streaked auburn and pulled up in a loose knot. She always
looked elegant. Today, she wore pearls — and a black raw-
silk Chanel suit. With her sea-green eyes, the effect was
flattering and dramatic...and deceptive.
Most of the Gotham Roses supported the G.R.C. with fund-
raising for their chosen charity. They had separate and
varied careers, like Madison's in real estate and Chloe's
in investing. Those things told Renee most of what she
needed to know about which Roses had the character,
connections, skills and the will to become successful in
their top-secret endeavors. But Emma didn't have a career.
With Emma, none of that was needed. She was born to spy,
and both she and Renee knew it.