Chapter 1
Veracruz, Mexico.
Daisy Montana sipped sangria at a round table surrounded by her colleagues and was so grateful her life had returned to normal.
Her brain was about to explode after being jammed full of cutting-edge research and new ideas.
Inspired and re-energized, this had been exactly what she needed after the distraction and sky-high stress levels of the past couple of months.
Her advisor, Professor Wilson Williams, sat opposite and raised his glass. “A toast to a successful symposium.”
They all raised their glasses, even Amed Hussein, who was sticking to water because of his faith.
This had been a fantastic conference, and her poster on the initial experiments she planned to conduct on the new fuel rod technology Wilson had designed had been well received.
She was excited to test the theory that these fuel rods would produce more energy for longer while still being highly controllable.
Her work followed closely on Amed’s research, and she found him to be a patient and generous researcher with both his time and his knowledge.
“And I hope you all used the opportunity to connect with others in our field.”
“Daisy definitely did.” This snark came from Emilia Osbourne, a first-year master’s student who’d started the program at the same time Daisy had started her PhD. She was dark-haired and pretty but also casually catty and default mean.
But she was right. Daisy had networked her ass off—a little too successfully, in some cases.
Professor Francois Tremblay, an influential French scientist who worked in Paris, was proving a little…
over attentive. The guy was handsome, slick, and generally full of himself.
He was also very, very smart and she was genuinely fascinated by his lab’s area of research.
She didn’t need to be a nuclear physicist to know he was interested in more than her brain.
She wasn’t interested in a relationship, not even a short-term, physical one.
Especially not with someone so high profile in the relatively small world of nuclear engineering.
“So did Roger.” Daisy nodded to the Yorkshireman who was at the next table chatting to another post-doc who just happened to be the prettiest woman in the room.
She held Emilia’s gaze until the other woman looked away with a petulant shrug. The last thing she needed was her reputation being called into question. Women always had to put up with that shit, and she was over it.
And, even though Francois was handsome, she wasn’t attracted to him.
The face of another man flashed into her brain, and she forced it away.
Thoughts of Jordan Krychek elicited everything from nuclear-fission rage to throat-choking gratitude, to…something else entirely. Part of her wanted to kiss him until neither of them could breathe, while the other part wanted to hold him underwater until he couldn’t.
Mira Jahood raised her glass in another toast. “To Mexico. A beautiful and welcoming country with a warm and generous people.”
Daisy smiled gratefully. “To Mexico.”
At least being here, submerging herself in the science, had been a well-needed distraction from all the events of the year so far.
Not that her attendance here had gone down well with her dad, but thankfully he was stuck in England, and she hadn’t told him about the conference until just before it began.
She’d been careful. Despite her natural inclination to explore the local area, she hadn’t left the hotel grounds except to attend the conference tour of Laguna Verde Nuclear Power Station with its two boiling water reactors on the Gulf of Mexico yesterday. She didn’t take foolish risks.
He needed to learn to trust her.
It wasn’t as if he’d been around much when she was growing up. And with her mom busy working, she’d gotten away with murder.
And yet now they were both pulling the concerned parent cards?
Emotions hit hard when she thought about how much the teenage version of herself could have done with that level of care and attention. She loved them, but she was a smart, independent woman who could take care of herself—and they both needed to deal with that reality.
“Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m getting some dessert.” Wilson patted his stomach with a smile.
Fighting emotions that she was usually better at suppressing, she stood and crossed over to the dessert table and debated between the cheesecake and the chocolate mousse.
Emilia stood next to her with a look of distaste on her features as if the offerings offended her.
“Nothing you like?”
“It all looks like it was made last week.”
It looked fine to Daisy, but she wasn’t that fussy. Screw it. She’d take a slice of both.
She turned and almost collided with Professor Francois Tremblay, who stood behind them in the food queue.
Emilia smirked and headed off to talk to someone.
Daisy moved away with an apologetic smile and a wave at her full plate. “I’m starving.”
Tremblay’s dark eyes flashed. “I’ve always liked a woman with an appetite.” Thankfully, he said it quietly enough no one else could overhear him and gossip about it.
“Right. Nice to have met you, Professor Tremblay.”
“Call me Francois.”
She shook her head on a laugh. The man was persistent if nothing else. “Nice to have met you, Francois.”
And she went back to her table, being sure to sit in the spare seat between her boss and Mira so she could eat her dessert in peace.
Hostage Rescue Team Operator Jordan Krychek would rather be running twelve miles with a sixty-pound pack on his back or jumping out of an airplane at ten thousand feet, parachute optional, than working this particular op.
He’d positioned himself at a bar with a view of the wide open, double doors that led into the ballroom. He used the mirror behind the bar to monitor anyone going in and out of the final event of this nuclear engineering conference while keeping his face largely averted.
A woman with jet-black hair and eyes to match slid onto the stool beside him. She wore a dress that showed off tanned, mile-long legs and toned shoulders. Her feet were tipped in strappy stilettos that could kill if applied with the right pressure to the right body part.
She ordered a margarita and tapped her finger rhythmically on the bar.
Not part of the delegation, but maybe she was a wife or a girlfriend tagging along or joining for a post-conference break. Maybe she was a tourist staying at the hotel. Hell, maybe she owned the joint.
Not his business.
Not his mission.
He lazily scanned the bar and lobby, looking for anyone paying him undue attention.
A middle-aged couple sat intimately, hip-to-hip, sharing a drink.
Two older male conference attendees sat at a table and talked in earnest about the merits of Muon-Catalyzed Fusion.
Two younger men—in their twenties—both sat alone at scattered tables, one reading a newspaper, the other scrolling on his phone.
Two women giggled drunkenly over cocktails.
A mix of conference goers and hotel guests, enjoying the laidback atmosphere of this beautiful, beachside hotel resort in Veracruz.
This part of the country had seen an increase in violent crime and gang activity in the past few years, and though the vast majority of the Mexican people were honest, hardworking, law-abiding citizens, Jordan couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
Not when the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team had gone head-to-head with one of the Mexican cartels at the start of the year.
It was the reason his boss and friend, Kurt Montana, had asked him to do this personal favor.
Having recently been kidnapped himself, Kurt couldn’t bear the idea of the same thing happening to his daughter.
It was a fear Kurt was going to have to deal with because life wasn’t safe, and Jordan couldn’t see Daisy Montana approving a 24/7 bodyguard even if she could afford one.
Not his problem.
Except, right now it was very much his problem.
He exhaled his frustration.
Jordan had agreed to use some vacation time to alleviate his friend’s concerns. Let him enjoy his impromptu honeymoon, helping his new wife settle her affairs in England and get moving on the documentation she needed to join Kurt in Virginia.
And perhaps he’d agreed because he felt guilty for the terrible things he’d said and done to Daisy before he’d figured out her identity. He closed his eyes as shame rushed through him, then opened them again to keep watch.
He was on assignment, not vacation.
Through the open doorway he spotted his target safely eating dessert and drinking coffee.
Jordan took a swallow of the single malt he was nursing.
“Are you here on vacation?” The woman on the next stool asked suddenly.
The small talk startled him.
She was an American, probably West Coast, with the faintest hint of something European.
“Yeah.” He raised a brow. “You?”
She choked out a wet laugh, the sound more like a sob. “First time I’ve vacationed alone in a very long time. I don’t think I’m very good at it.”
A sadness hit her expression as she stared at her left hand with its bare ring finger.
Jordan steeled himself against the feelings of empathy.
He wasn’t here for damsels in distress, and he certainly wasn’t interested in hooking up.
Since his most recent sexual partner had tried to kill him, he was abstaining from sex until he got his shit together.
He had a job to do and couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted.
But part of that job was blending into the background and not standing out like some grumpy asshole who didn’t know how to hold a conversation.
“Nasty divorce?”
She bit her lip and tears flashed, bright and glittery in huge brown eyes. “No.”
He knew what loss felt like, and empathy gave him a jab in the chest whether he wanted it to or not. “Sorry.”