The Marcelli Bride

know you could never wear black. How scandalous. The heavens would open and weep.”

Lauren’s intense gaze never wavered. “At least I don’t dress like a former rock groupie in mourning. Does every single outfit have to be tone-on-tone black? It’s summer, for heaven’s sake. Lighten up and wear a color.”

Darcy felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly. Lauren began to giggle. Laughter escaped, and then they were hugging each other tight. Darcy hung on tighter than usual.

“When they told me what happened, I nearly died,” Lauren whispered in her ear. “I’m so sorry. I wish it had been me.”

Darcy straightened. “No, you don’t. Trust me on that.”

“But they wanted me instead of you.”

“Don’t they all. That’s the world in which we live. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Darcy, don’t.” Lauren sighed. “I feel horrible.”

“Don’t. Do you know where they’re taking you?” she asked.

“No. You?”

“I want to be safe. Something I’m not sure the moron brigade can do.”

Lauren shot the agent in the room an apologetic glance then turned on her sister. “Darcy, no. You can’t be mad at your team.”

“Why not? If they’d been doing their job, I wouldn’t have been taken.” From the corner of her eye she saw the agent flinch. Well, too bad. If they’d been doing their job, she would never have realized that she was at risk.

She’d had Secret Service protection for years and had never considered it more than an annoyance. She’d always known that she and Lauren were technically possible targets, but she’d felt safe surrounded by the grim- faced agents. Not anymore.

“It’s not completely their fault,” Lauren said. “No one was expecting you to be kidnapped.”

Darcy snorted. “It’s their job to expect the unexpected. They’re professionals.”

“I know, but they didn’t mean for anything bad to happen to you.”

“Oh. They didn’t mean it. Then that makes it all right.”

Lauren might technically be the firstborn, but she had the personality of a middle child-always seeing the other person’s side of things. It was a trait Darcy found annoying on occasion, even as she admired it.

“Darcy…,” her sister began.

Darcy waved her off. “Don’t sweat it. They’ll be on their toes now. That’s what matters. So we’ll head off to our separate but equal locations and wait for the crazies to be caught.”

And then what? She’d tried to live a normal life, but it was impossible while her father was in office.

“There was so much to cancel,” Lauren said. “I had two benefits, and I was going to be at a state dinner.” She frowned. “Weren’t you flying to New York?”

“Yeah.” Darcy didn’t want to think about that either.

Lauren groaned. “Your interview. When is it?”

“Monday.”

Being the president’s daughter put her in the unique position of being unemployable in her chosen field. She was a graphic artist with a master’s in marketing. But, as the dozens of companies she’d applied to over the past couple of years had told her, no client wanted to turn down a presentation by someone so close to the president. It could be very bad for business. Rather than put their clients in such an awkward position, she’d been passed over time and again.

A small firm in New York had been willing to take a chance on her. Now she was unlikely to make her second interview, and telling them why wasn’t going to make them want to hire her.

“Maybe if you explained,” Lauren said, looking so earnest Darcy actually laughed.

“What? That I was recently kidnapped and have to lay low until the culprits are found? I don’t think that will win me employee of the month.”

Lauren sighed. “I know this life is hard for you.”

“And I know you love it,” Darcy said without rancor. It was true-public life suited her sister. Lauren was never happier than when she was cutting a ribbon at some hospital wing opening, or serving as their father’s hostess for a formal dinner for three hundred. Darcy would rather be staked naked in the desert on top of a nest of fire ants.

“I’ll be fine,” she said before tender-hearted Lauren started to cry again. “Don’t worry about it. Have you met your new security team?” she asked, to change the subject to something more neutral.

“No. Have you?”

“Just one of them. Alex Vanmeter. He’s downstairs. He looks competent, but I’ll be grilling him later to make sure he knows what he’s doing.”

Lauren stared at her. “The incredibly hunky guy who looks like a street fighter? I’m sure he’ll keep you safe.”

“I wish I was sure.” Darcy shook her head. “You know, I’m actually not interested in his looks right now. He could be a troll, as long as he’s a troll who knows what he’s doing.”

She crossed to her dresser and pulled out bras and panties, then tucked them into the suitcase. She’d already packed up her art supplies and her laptop.

Lauren walked to the window and stared down at the Secret Service team below. “What happened to the two guys assigned to you?” she asked.

“I don’t have a clue.” Darcy didn’t think they were in a good place for having lost her. “Don’t worry. I doubt they were taken out back and shot.” Although in her mind, they more than deserved a good beating. Or maybe a kidnapping. Let them feel what she’d experienced. Toss them in the back of a filthy van driven by demon-headed guys named Bill and force them to open a purse with their teeth.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Lauren said. “I feel bad for them. And you, of course.”

“Of course. Doesn’t seeing both sides ever make you tired?”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Desperately. I mostly do it to make you crazy.”

Darcy grinned. “You usually succeed.”

“I’m glad.” Lauren turned serious. “You’ll be all right, won’t you?”

Darcy figured that in time she would be able to sleep and the flashes of terror would recede. Until then, she would simply fake her way through it. That had always worked for her before. “I promise.”

“I guess we’ll be able to talk by phone on secure lines. I want to hear about everything.”

“Me, too.”

Lauren moved close, and they hugged again. “I love you,” her sister whispered.

“I love you, too. Be good.”

“That’s my line,” Lauren said as she stepped back and waved.

Darcy watched her go then turned back to her packing. For the moment, the fear was gone, but in its place was a dark and lonely space.

Joe arrived at the Marcelli winery shortly after four in the afternoon. He’d put off leaving as long as he could, which had meant all of the morning, but he’d known better than to linger much past noon. He might be entering hell on earth, but he was still a naval officer. His job was to follow orders.

As he turned onto the road that led to the three-story hacienda, he studied the pale yellow stucco structure as he might an enemy target, or a place he would have to defend.

Too many windows and exits, he thought grimly as he took in the French doors leading to balconies and the decorative wrought iron that would allow someone in reasonable shape to climb from flower beds to the tile roof. Trees that others would think provided comfortable shade in the August heat showed him places snipers could hide.

Beyond the house was a multicar garage that could conceal at least fifty armed men, and less than a quarter mile beyond that were the various buildings of the winery.

Perfect, he thought grimly as he pulled his truck up behind the house and turned off the engine. Maybe someone could call in one of those entertainment networks to announce Darcy Jensen’s location to add to the challenge.

The rear door of the house opened, and a man stepped onto the porch. Joe recognized Marco Marcelli, his biological father.

“Joe! You’re here.”

Marco hurried to the truck and met Joe as he closed the driver’s door behind him.