Would-Be Christmas Wedding. Debra & Regan Webb & Black

adjustments. Holt knew how to scramble, scrap and fight dirty when it was necessary. A few years behind a desk didn’t change the core of a man.

      For nearly a year now, he’d let Isely see what he wanted to see, a disgruntled, ambitious second-in-command who resented Casey almost as much as Isely himself. It had been the performance of his life and he wasn’t about to abandon it now when he could almost see the end of these dark days.

      Adjustment negates impact, he replied via text on the disposable and untraceable burner phone Isely had provided. Deep down, Holt knew Isely preferred the showy, public embarrassment that kidnapping Cecelia from the gala would provide.

      Long minutes passed and Holt mentally composed and deleted at least ten incriminating text messages. If he sent any of them, if he left the director no room for doubt, it would make it damn near impossible to nail Isely before the bastard slipped away to run his operation from a non-extradition country.

      Holt had put himself in so many different shoes and looked at this from everyone’s perspective he’d almost lost sight of his own agenda. Protecting Thomas Casey was top priority and preventing the exposure of Mission Recovery was essential. He cringed to think of the careers ruined and lives irreparably disrupted if the worst happened.

      Finally, the cell chirped with another text message. Proceed as planned.

      He’d been close enough to Isely these past months that he knew his enemy believed this news would bring him relief. He’d portrayed himself to Isely as a man who needed the stability of guidance and a set schedule. But that was the act. Holt knew better than to trust Isely to keep the leash on whoever had been chosen to take over should Holt get caught or falter.

      Isely had resources and he used them well. Holt was plan A. There would be a plan B eager to step up and prove their worth in order to gain promotion and prestige within Isely’s operation.

      Well, there was one sure way to keep Cecelia safe until Holt could move in on schedule. Holt crossed to his office safe, pulled out an alternate ID and a stack of cash and prepared for his date with the director’s sister.

      It was laughable. The stuff of comic tragedies. He was about to prevent a kidnapping by becoming a proper gentleman.

      Chapter Four

      Old Town Alexandria, 7:12 p.m.

      Cecelia turned up the collar on her wool coat for the short walk to meet her friends at their favorite wine bar in Old Town. It was the place they’d brainstormed tomorrow’s gala and it was fitting to celebrate their success with a toast there tonight. The temperature was dropping but the moon was bright overhead, and the crisp winter air cleared her head. She breathed deeply now, knowing in a few days’ time she’d be breathing warm, humid air in the Caymans.

      It was no surprise the dark sedan had followed her from the house to the Plaza hotel. When she thought about it, she realized one like it had either been parked at the corner of her block or shadowing her for the past couple of days. She walked on, resisting the urge to tell the driver to go back and report that Director Casey’s sister could take care of herself. She should give Thomas some credit. Clearly he suspected she’d balk at protective custody, and he’d brought the safety measures to her.

      She was nearly to the bar when two men approached her. They wore U.S. Navy-issue wool peacoats over jeans and heavy boots, but that was where the resemblance ended. The hair broke regulation, as did the beards. Her first thought was they were longshoremen on leave, but Old Town Alexandria wasn’t exactly a shipping hub.

      “Ma’am?” They stopped just in front of her. “Excuse me. Do you know the area?” the taller man asked with a faint trace of a French accent.

      Thomas’s warning blasted through her and she told herself it was far too early in her budding ops career for paranoia. Her hands fisted around the car key in her pocket. There was security nearby in the dark sedan, and by now Casey and her new husband were probably watching from a rooftop, and Cecelia was close enough to the bar that she could call for help if necessary.

      “Yes,” she replied with a nod, determined to keep an open mind. “What are you trying to find?”

      “Do you know the restaurant owned by the retired hockey player?”

      She relaxed, releasing her grip on her key. They were French Canadian hockey fans. “Of course.” She gave them directions and wished them a good evening as she entered the wine bar.

      Looking around, she realized she was the first to arrive, so she claimed a high-top table near the front window of the swanky little bar and waited for her friends. While she was thrilled with their progress and the news that they’d hit the pre-event fundraising goal, with every passing hour she was losing enthusiasm for the event itself.

      Her daughter and brother would attend with their new spouses, and she’d be the lonely, courageous widow.

      She rubbed at the fading indentation on her ring finger where her wedding band used to sit. Even after William’s death, she’d worn it, not quite ready to part with it.

      After Casey’s wedding in October, she’d had it cleaned and stored it in the safe at the house. Her friends had been supportive and so far her family hadn’t noticed. Or maybe they just hadn’t known what to say. They’d probably been too distracted with news of her career change to notice a change in her jewelry.

      Now here she was, intent on meeting a man who could be an enemy of her brother...of her. She was prepared. Cecelia might not carry a handgun in her bag, but she always carried her trusty Taser. She was far from an expert with handguns, but she’d taken the necessary classes for using the Taser.

      “Cecelia?”

      She swiveled toward the deep voice she recognized from a few phone calls. The polite smile she always wore in public slipped a little when she met the intense, gray-blue gaze of the man who’d approached her table.

      Danger was her first thought, with delicious chasing right behind it. His picture on the dating profile hadn’t been doctored. And it hadn’t done him justice. Those eyes, so cool and clear, were framed by the stark contrast of slashing dark eyebrows, thick dark hair and chiseled features.

      His mouth tilted up at one corner. “Emmett Holt.” He extended a hand. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

      “Not at all, Mr. Holt.” She struggled to remember to breathe. To remember her brother suspected him of a terrible betrayal. Instead, all his wit and charm in their previous online conversations danced through her mind. “A pleasure,” she managed. Please let him be one of the good guys. It would be so unfair to wind up with a shark on her first dive back into the dating pool.

      The upturned corner widened into a full-blown smile and his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners. She barely stifled an admiring sigh. “Forgive me,” she said, searching for her composure. “Did I get the time wrong?”

      According to her calendar, they were meeting at eight, after her toast with her friends. She had the sudden, bizarre urge to keep him all to herself. Dating was going to be enough of a shock, but dating a man who looked like this? Tomorrow night would be soon enough to show him off. She felt flushed in a way she’d almost forgotten about.

      “Not at all. I got to town early. Planned to have a drink to settle my nerves before you arrived.” He leaned closer. “Dare I hope you’re here for the same reason?”

      She shook her head, feeling a goofy grin fighting for control of her face. “I’m meeting friends. A last-minute review for tomorrow’s event.”

      “Ah.” He looked around. “Smart planning.”

      “I tend to do that.”

      That half smile was back. “Just as you stated in your profile.” He winked. “I’ll just wait over there at the bar until it’s my turn.”

      The way he said that launched a swarm of butterflies in her belly.

      “Wait. Your generosity...”