Mission: Out Of Control. Susan May Warren

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СКАЧАТЬ not. Maybe it would only add ammunition. She took a sip of her juice and balanced it on her lap, staring at the bloodred liquid.

      “I want you to cancel your European tour.”

      Her head shot up, but he already had his hand up to stop her words.

      “I’m not trying to interfere with your career, Veronica. But the truth is…I’ve had some disturbing threats lately, and I’m just not sure that you should be parading around in nightclubs across Europe when there are men out there who’d like to see me dead—or worse, at their mercy.”

      Her father had always been an epic presence in her life. Even now, he seemed invincible, his hair dark as oil, his face unlined, his shoulders broad. The sigh that shuddered through him shook her again.

      “What are you talking about?”

      He set his drink on the desk. “As the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, I am the one who suggested the embargo on Zimbala. General Mubar has decided that I’m an enemy of his people, and that’s putting it kindly. He’s made a few personal threats lately, the kind that I should take seriously.”

      “General Mubar wants to hurt you?”

      “General Mubar thinks I’m standing in the way of the United States recognizing his illegal government.”

      She edged forward in her seat. “You know he’s starting to recruit child soldiers, right?” She still had the images from her tour imprinted in her head.

      “I know, and that’s why I recommended that we establish economic sanctions against Zimbala. And why the general’s made a very public pledge to hurt me…and I’m worried that will affect you.”

      “Why me?”

      “After your too-publicized visit there three years ago, he’s convinced you had a hand in influencing my decision.”

      “But I went as Vonya. There was no connection to you.”

      “Maybe you think this crazy identity as Vonya hides you, but I’m sure Mubar, just like my colleagues in Washington, has figured out who you are. I don’t know for sure, but we can’t take any chances.” He paused, looked at his drink, then back to her.

      His gaze seemed to part her chest, burn it. Finally, “Veronica, no matter how hard you try, you won’t be able to sever that connection.”

      Right. Somehow, she found her voice, although when it emerged, it cracked, and sounded nothing like either of the women she worked so hard to be. “I’m not trying to sever that connection—”

      A knock at the door cut into her words. “Your guest is here,” Marguerite said.

      “Give us a moment, then show him in.”

      Oh, hallelujah, her father had set her up on a date. Now she could spend the entire evening fighting sleep to the tune of some political discussion or a treatise on a new case before the Supreme Court. Didn’t he know by now that she’d never fall for a man he’d handpicked? She wanted a poet, or perhaps a musician—someone who embraced life and wasn’t made of stone. “Lawyer or politician, Father?”

      He frowned at her, as if he had no idea what she might be referring to. “Business, Veronica.”

      Whatever. She hoped her “date” didn’t expect a good-night kiss. “Listen, I understand your warning, but I can’t cancel my tour. The record label already took a chance on me, taking me from an indie band to a regular on the pop charts. I need this tour to keep my momentum. Frankly, even if I wanted to cancel, I couldn’t. I’d lose all my deposits and end up owing my firstborn child to the record label.”

      His face twitched. Oh, great choice of words, Veronica. She set her drink on the table. Might as well go for broke, since…she was. “The fact is, I need…I need help.”

      His right eyebrow went up.

      “I’m a little in the red right now.”

      He folded his arms across his chest, and oh, yes, he had her right where he wanted her.

      “I lost a lot with the stock market crash, and then, my accountant made some tax mistakes, and I ended up paying back taxes and penalties—”

      “Are you still using your Harvard friend for your accounting?”

      “—and Tommy D redid the condo for a photo shoot, and it went way over budget—”

      “Did I mention I think he has stretched your image a little far? I don’t know why you insist on using your college friends to help your…career, or whatever you’re calling your flamboyant—”

      “Father, please, Tommy D is a great manager, and this is what it takes to stand out.”

      “Tommy D’Amico recognized ‘sucker’ written all over you the second he saw you serving at the Harvard Square Homeless Shelter. I think you need to look a little closer at why your money seems to be vanishing.”

      “I’m not a fool for wanting to help people, Father.”

      “But you’ve become a fool doing it.”

      She stared at her juice, suddenly seeing again her so-called rescuer’s disgust.

      Her father sighed, turned back toward the window. “So, you need money.”

      She fought for her voice. “I’m good for it—you know that. I just…well, we put a lot into this tour already and I can’t back out. I was hoping…”

      She winced. Okay, really, she felt sixteen, and begging for the car keys. How did she ever talk herself into believing this was a good idea?

      But to her surprise, he began to nod, a gleam in his eye, something she’d seen too many times when he knew he had her cornered. Oh, no… “I think we can work something out.”

      “Really?” She hated how she nearly lunged at his words.

      He got up from the desk and walked over to the door. “I predicted that you would be averse to my suggestion to cancel, so I was prepared with a counteroffer. Which, I think, might be a win for both of us. Veronica, you can go to Europe on my dime, on one condition.”

      Her stomach tightened with a sick feeling. “What?”

      He opened the door. “Come in, please.” Then he backed away, wearing a smile that she’d seen on his campaign posters. “I’d like you to meet your new bodyguard.”

      Her father’s henchman stepped up to the door, six-foot-plus of solid muscle, now dressed in a pedestrian suit, his dark, curly hair combed and tidy, his familiar, unforgiving eyes on her, looking serious, powerful and made of stone.

      She let a groan escape. “Oh, no.” See? Solid proof that, cosmically, she would never get on God’s good side.

      “Brody Wickham,” he said, holding out his hand. He smiled, looking nothing like the scowler she’d met in the dark alley outside the D.C. club. Then—and frankly, she should have expected his sarcasm—he asked, СКАЧАТЬ