He’d been watching her for weeks now, and this wasn’t the first time. It had been up close and personal three years ago, at least to him. His gaze now, his watchfulness, was not meant to be intrusive, nor was it unclean–although he acknowledged–uninvited. It was the eye of a trained professional. The danger had returned, yet it was now focused on her, and this had his gut clenching. Silently he swore to himself. He would protect her. He would keep her safe.

Giffin Reese was as beautiful as her name was unique, and when he met her, she was taken. She was the wife of a good man, Senator John Reese, upstanding and seemingly forthright in his efforts. A man to be respected and applauded. But something out there had been enough to get him killed. Threats were made, blackmail attempted, but never was the source revealed.

Devon Monroe had been part of an Agency team assigned to identify the danger, isolate the situation, and neutralize the hostile intent. Bottom line–protect the couple.

The team was not successful.

After months of investigation and around the clock live-in watch, not much intel was turned up. The threat had remained undefined, and Senator John Reese was dead. Speculation suspected a leak–a member of the team playing for both sides–but nothing conclusive had ever surfaced. Hell, he’d hand chosen agents he could trust, and they had run a tight op, but how else could the hitter have known?

Frustrated chaos ensued but was short-lived. The enemy seemed appeased, at least for the moment. There were no more contacts, threats of any kind. Maybe murder had been the original plan. But then why now, why again, and why Giffin?

So now here he sat, three years later, watching Giffin’s every move. A civilian cloaked in the business of security, acting on a tip from a loyal friend on the inside. Giffin was no longer the wife of a senator privy to Agency protection, so her life was in Devon’s hands, and he was on his own. Well, as alone as his connections would keep him.

This time it would be different. He would be different. This time, Devon would find the bastard. This time, he would neutralize the threat.

Devon knew he’d have to watch from a distance and wait. He needed to draw the enemy out, gain control somehow. Giffin would be in harm’s way, but he would be there. She had something, the something, that somebody wanted, and death wouldn’t achieve the goal. Or so he hoped. So watch and wait and have your Rolaids ready.


Devon Monroe sat across the street concealed within the bustle of people passing by. He was using a busy café with outdoor seating for cover. His position provided direct line-of-sight and served as a vantage point for Giffin Reese’s end-of-day pick-up. She didn’t know he was there, and that was exactly as he intended.

The still warm September sun had begun to dip low as it lazily tracked across Idaho Falls’ pristine, cobalt blue sky on its way toward sunset. And Devon watched as the golden-bronze rays lit up Giffin’s face and played in her hair, giving her the appearance of an angel–an angel, Devon knew, who wouldn’t hesitate ripping him a new one when she found out what was going on.

Giffin’s days were long and dedicated to her philanthropic endeavors, and her nights were mostly spent at home, alone. It made keeping an eye on her effortless, but it also made her whereabouts reliably predictable. A fact, he knew, that would make it easy to strike at her.

Having likely spent another day working to save more souls, Giffin stood outside the Reese Foundation’s three-story, brick office building waiting for her car. She looked a little tired, but pleased, enjoying what she could of the beautiful day. Just the sight of her brought a quiet smile to Devon’s lips.

A slight breeze had picked up, and the air held just a hint of chill. Devon watched Giffin pull her sweater closer, check her watch, and look up the street. He followed her gaze. She was undoubtedly searching for her car. But today, they found it wasn’t her car, with her driver, that came for her.

No, today, it was a black Mercedes sedan that abruptly appeared from behind a delivery truck and accelerated from its stalking approach to come screeching around the corner and slam into the curb in front of Giffin.

Devon was on his feet just as two masked men jumped out, grabbed Giffin, and crammed her into the backseat before she could even let out a scream.

Shit. Sneaky fuckers.

Devon was at a dead run toward her, and realizing he wouldn’t make it, he turned and ran for his car.

Cursing himself, he peeled out from his on-street parking spot and jetted up the street to follow. He’d known this time would come, but the knowing didn’t make him feel any better.

He felt like shit.

Somehow Devon had caught Giffin’s eye as the car sped away, and mixed in with her obvious fear, he hoped there was recognition and some feeling of reassurance.

He shook his head and snorted. It was an unfriendly, self-mocking sound.

Yeah, right. The last time she’d seen him, her husband had been gunned down, and the Senator had been standing right beside her. How reassuring was that?

He knew what he had to do; he just hoped she’d understand. He hoped she would forgive him . . . find trust . . . maybe more.

Yeah, right. Get a grip, Devon.

He was racing down the street checking the side streets for the black sedan, and finally spotting the car on the right, he made the turn, but hung back.

This isn’t how he’d wanted it to play, but you didn’t always get to make the rules.

Hang on Giffin.

Hang on honey. I’m coming for you.