from him ten years ago because she thought he wasn’t good enough for her.
“Make your point, Finn.” She struggled to get free of the shackle of his fingers, but he didn’t let go. “Tell me what you want to say and get it over with.”
It was hurting like it happened yesterday, but he knew that was because of Spencer. It was Spencer who had ripped him open again.
“I’m a Secret Service agent.”
Bailey had been struggling to pull away again, but now she stilled. “What?”
“I went to college, got a degree in criminal justice, then joined the Secret Service.” He gave a shake of his head. “Your obvious shock isn’t flattering, GND.”
“But…but…” Now she was shaking
“Still a struggle.” Especially with the ones he made for himself. Regarding her. “However, I like the sense of purpose.”
“But…the
“It was Tanner Hart who introduced the idea to me.” He didn’t bother reminding her of the Hart family. There was a San Diego thoroughfare named after Walter Hart, Tanner’s grandfather, who had been a World War II ace. Tanner’s father and uncle had distinguished themselves in Vietnam, his brothers in Afghanistan and Iraq. A family peopled by famous military men. “Tanner and I met that summer I was twenty. Later, we entered the Secret Service Academy together.”
“I didn’t know…no one said.”
If Finn had to guess, it would be that she’d never bothered to inquire. “Gram is quiet about it. The service likes us to keep a low profile. When asked I most often tell people I have a government job.”
She stared as if seeing him for the very first time. He let her look, enjoying the idea that he’d knocked for a loop the girl who’d once knocked him on his ass and left him for dead.
“So, sweetheart, you don’t know me so well after all, do you?”
She rubbed at her forehead with her free hand, and he realized he was still holding her other one. He couldn’t seem to let it go. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Tanner. Tanner was involved with-”
“Don’t mention it if you see him.” Finn dropped her wrist and shoved his fingers in his pocket. It was time they both went to bed.
But she was frowning now and rubbing her forehead as if coaxing a memory to the surface. “That assassination attempt.”
Finn took a step around her. “As I said, don’t mention it if you see him.”
She caught his elbow in her own viselike grip and turned him toward her again. “Finn?”
Secret Service agents were known for their flat, cool stares. He could still do it one-eyed. “What now?”
Her gaze cataloged every feature of his expressionless face. Then her hand tightened on him as she spoke. “What did that have to do with you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, Finn,” she whispered.
He didn’t like that odd gleam in her eyes, or that she was touching his arm again, or the fact that he wanted to bury his face in her blond, glittering hair and lose himself in her scent. Damn those whiskeys!
“There’s nothing more,” he ground out, wrenching his arm from her grasp.
“There’s more. I know you, Finn.”
She didn’t, goddamn it. No one knew him anymore, least of all himself. He’d been a damn fine agent, dedicated to the job, one who never wearied of the constant training and the constant stress of searching for that one face in the crowd. Cool and collected in his dark suit and his dark glasses. But his usual detachment was so damn hard to find and hold on to now.
“You were there,” Bailey said. “Somehow. Somewhere. I’m trying to think…I’ve seen the video.”
“The whole damn world has seen the video.” Though the Secret Service had studied the tape over and over, it had also played for months on the news channels, the entertainment channels,
“Until then I didn’t know that the Secret Service had a Dignitary Protection Division.”
Finn half turned, looking off down the dark street. “Besides the president and family and the vice-president and family, we’re charged with protecting foreign dignitaries visiting the U.S. Prince al-Maddah was assigned some of our best agents.”
“And the agents saved him.”
Seeing red, he rounded on her. He couldn’t help himself. “Is that all you remember?”
Her eyes went big again, but he couldn’t bleed the bitterness from his voice. “An agent lost her life, Bailey. An agent on
“A woman,” she said.
“Ayesha Spencer. She was twenty-five years old and her name was Ayesha Spencer. When the murderer took his first shot, she did exactly as she’d been trained to do-stood tall and made herself a target for the gunman-then took a bullet in the neck, above the protection of her Kevlar vest.”
“Like I said, I’ve seen the video. She was a hero.”
“But green as grass and wholesome as apple pie to boot,” he couldn’t stop himself from muttering, though he managed to stop the next words from rolling out.
Hell!
He was supposed to be icing all this emotion over, but the feelings continued boiling up inside him.
The Secret Service had an in-house team of shrinks who’d have happy hard-ons if only he’d let them out in a session, but that wasn’t going to happen. He could take care of himself. Service training involved learning to discern warning signs of severe stress, and he’d self-diagnosed himself just fine, thank you very much.
He’d prescribed the cure too. These few weeks with Gram, getting her well again, and then he’d be as good as before too.
“So you were there,” Bailey said. “Where, Finn?”
“You’ve watched the video,” he answered, suddenly too tired to avoid talking about it any longer. “The Service kept my name out of the press, and it’s mostly my torso caught on film. I’m the one you see shoving the prince into the limo. At the same time, I glanced over my shoulder to check if the enemy was closing in.”
“Go on.”
“Before a couple of other agents tackled him, the gunman got off his next bullet. It shattered my left orbital bone, destroying my eye in the process.” He knew he sounded offhand about it. It made everyone more comfortable that way. “Hence your old friend Finn is now Finn the Fucked-up Pirate.”
He watched her swallow, then again. Bailey, obviously, finally, thankfully, silenced.
Tucking his whiskey and his wine under his arm, he at last turned from her and hurried off. He’d revealed more than he liked, damn it all, but at least it was something that shut her up long enough for him to make his escape.
In the sixteenth century, devout Germans brought decorated trees into their homes. If trees were hard to come by, they built Christmas pyramids of wood and decorated them with evergreens and candles. Not until the mid- 1800s, however, did Christmas trees become popular in the U.S., thanks to the influence of Queen Victoria and her German husband, Prince Albert.
