Men Of Honour. Lori Foster

up years ago and hired people to keep an eye on the place instead of technology.”

      “He keeps guards on staff?”

      “You could call them that. Natalie and I always called them sentries.” She grinned. “There’s always one around back, one around front, in rotating shifts.” She wrinkled her nose. “They act really cold, and they’re good at mean-mugging everyone. No smiling or chitchat. I don’t like them much.”

      “What about your stepmother? She likes them?”

      “Kathi is fine with anything Dad wants. Her biggest goal in life is to keep him happy.” As they neared the house, she saw the front guard step out and talk into a walkie-talkie–type device. “So ostentatious.”

      “How many rooms does the place have?”

      Seeing Dare in analytical mode always impressed her. He didn’t ask out of mere curiosity, but rather to get a sense of the layout. “Six bedrooms, seven and a half baths.”

      “What else?”

      “Hmm.” She thought about it for a second, trying to think what might be important to Dare. “Five sitting rooms. Five garage bays. A library and a gallery. Kitchen and breakfast room, of course, and a covered, outdoor salon.”

      “Master bedroom upstairs or down? Is the basement finished?”

      “There’s a master up and down, but unless they’ve changed it, Dad and Kathi’s bedroom is on the main floor. They have a wine cellar downstairs, and Dad has a work area, like with tools and stuff, that he seldom uses. Not much else.”

      The guard had come down the stairs to await Dare. He didn’t look happy.

      Come to that, Dare didn’t, either.

      “Do you know him?”

      “I’ve seen him before. I think his name is George Wallace, but I’m not certain,” Molly whispered. “It’s been a while since I visited.”

      Dare got out and, ignoring the armed man, came around to Molly’s door. He helped her out and then locked his car with the click of a remote.

      The man came to stand in front of them, deliberately blocking them. “Are you expected?”

      Molly started to step in front of Dare, but he stopped her. “George?”

      The guard’s expression went flinty. “Do I know you?”

      “Tell Bishop I’m here. And you might want to tell him that I’m coming in—” he stared into the man’s eyes “—one way or another. How much ruckus is caused is up to him.”

      Keeping his stony expression, George asked, “And you are?”

      Dare gave that eerie, mean smile of his. “He’ll know.”

      The sentry looked beyond Dare to Molly. “You’re one of the daughters?”

      Dare answered for her. “She’s none of your damned business.”

      Green eyes narrowing, the man back-stepped a few feet away and put in a call. A light breeze ruffled his dark hair; he wore a stark white dress shirt and tie, with his belt holster exposed. Though he spoke too softly for Molly to hear, she had a gut feeling that nothing got by Dare.

      After a minute, the man stowed his phone and approached again. “You can go up to the front door. Someone will let you in.”

      Unnerved by all the tension and more than ready to escape it, Molly started forward. Again Dare stopped her. He and the man did more staring, and although no words were exchanged, the guard must have understood, because after one laconic nod, he preceded Dare to the front door, rang the bell and then stepped to the side, where Dare could still see him.

      Under her breath, Molly asked, “You didn’t trust him?”

      “At my back? Hell, no.”

      A young Hispanic girl in a pale blue uniform answered the door and gestured them into the cavernous two-story foyer. As the girl moved away again, Dare made note of every door around them. Had he packed his gun? His knife? She peeked at the small of his back and saw that now-familiar bulge beneath his shirt.

      Strangely, knowing he was armed made her more at ease.

      He caught her gaze and easily interpreted her thoughts, because he told her, “With a weapon or without, no one is going to hurt you as long as you’re with me. You have my promise on that.”

      He spoke with so much confidence, Molly believed him. He would protect her from physical harm. Sadly, with her father, it was more the verbal abuse that she dreaded, and there’d be nothing Dare could do about that.

      CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

      HER FATHER WASN’T the one to greet them. Kathi came around the corner, heels clicking on the floor, her face full of smiles. Her chin-length, wavy brown hair danced around her face in a precise style that somehow managed to look casual. She wore dark designer jeans, pointy-toed ankle boots and a cozy cashmere sweater.

      “Molly! I must have missed your call. I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting you.”

      The mild rebuke didn’t faze Molly; she was used to it, whether she’d made an appointment to see her father or not. “There wasn’t time to call.”

      Kathi embraced her, kissed the air near her cheek and then held her back. “My, my, my.” She touched Molly’s hair. “It looks like you haven’t seen the inside of a salon in forever.”

      “It has been a while.”

      Kathi smiled and, as if she knew nothing of the kidnapping, said, “I know how you are. You start writing, and you forget everything else. Have you lost weight? That’s good, I suppose, but not if you’ve done it improperly.”

      Acutely aware of Dare beside her, Molly wanted to groan. “A few pounds, yes.” Being starved often had that effect.

      Did Kathi truly not know of her kidnapping? It wouldn’t be beyond her father not to share that news. But somehow, Molly thought she knew, and that made her inane chatter all the more annoying.

      “You have the darkest shadows under your eyes, too.” Appearing concerned, Kathi studied her face. “Aren’t you getting enough sleep?”

      “I sleep fine.” Now. Since crawling into Dare’s bed, she’d found it easy to relax and catch up on her sleep. “Those are bruises.”

      Kathi looked more closely, and she tsked. “Oh, dear. What have you done to yourself? You always were accident-prone. I’ve told you that yoga would give you added grace if only you’d—”

      Feeling the flush in her face, she cut off Kathi’s ridiculous banter and gestured toward Dare. “Kathi, this is Dare Macintosh. Dare, my stepmother, Kathi Berry-Alexander.”

      Having paid no attention to Dare until he was formally acknowledged by Molly, Kathi looked up at him. Fingers splayed over her throat, she whispered, “Oh, my.”

      Dare said nothing.

      Kathi held out a delicate, well-manicured hand. “Mr. Macintosh, how very nice to meet you. You’re a friend of Molly’s?”

      Dare didn’t miss a beat. He held Kathi’s hand for the briefest of greetings that barely passed for polite and said only, “Mrs. Alexander.”

      “Berry-Alexander.” Nonplussed by his lack of a response to her direct and social question, Kathi fiddled with the end of her hair. “Yes, well … I’m sorry that we’re ill prepared for guests. I was just finishing breakfast and was on my way out the door. We’re breaking ground on a new youth community building today.”

      And that explained the jeans, Molly thought. Not that anyone would mistake Kathi’s clothing as appropriate for dirt-digging.

      “We won’t hold you up.” As if Molly weren’t with him, Dare said,