âAre you worried?â Chance asked.
âAbout Beatrice? Yes.â
âAbout everything,â he responded.
Stella turned away, not wanting to look into his beautiful eyes. She knew what sheâd see there. The same compassion and understanding she saw when he was questioning clients or reassuring a victim. He had a way of making people open up to him.
She didnât like opening up to anyone. She didnât like feeling vulnerable. She hated being on the receiving end of pity.
âYou need to trust me to handle things the way they need to be handled,â Chance said. âYouâre not the only one whoâs worried. I donât want to see anything happen to you or your grandmother, and I canât do my job effectively with one hand tied behind my back.â
âIâm not tying anything. Iâm setting boundaries.â
âBoundaries that are going to get you killed.â
ONE
Stella Silverstone woke like she often didâbathed in sweat, heart beating frantically, her body screaming for her to run or fight.
She did neither.
She wasnât on a hostage rescue mission in the middle of Vietnam. She wasnât in Egypt, walking through the slums, searching for a missing child. She was just outside of Boonsboro, Maryland, caring for her grandmother because her grandfather was gone.
Heâd been eighty-three when heâd taken his last breath. Stella couldnât say that his life had ended too soon, but she would have happily traded a few years of hers to have him back. Henry Radcliff had been a keeper. Thatâs what Stellaâs grandmother had said at the funeral. She was right. Henry had been a great guy. A wonderful husband, a loving father, a protective and caring grandfather.
Now he was gone, and Stella had to take his place in Beatriceâs rambling old Victorian, helping her grandmother do everyday chores that suddenly seemed to be too much for herâlaundry, cooking, dry mopping the hardwood floor, paying bills and sending thank-you cards. A year ago, Beatrice could have handled all of that and more. Now she seemed confused, frustrated and a little scared.
That scared Stella.
Which was probably why sheâd woken in a panic.
That and the fact that Christmas was only three weeks away.
Her least favorite day of the year.
She shivered, glancing at the glowing numbers on the bedside alarm clock. Nearly 5:00 a.m. Her boss, Chance Miller, and a few members of HEART would be converging on the house in a couple of hours. The hostage extraction and rescue team had bimonthly meetings at headquarters. Meeting outside of that secure environment went against protocol. The team coming to Boonsboro should have been out of the question. Stella had tried to argue with the plan. She could have easily found someone to watch Beatrice for the day while she made the three-hour trip to DC.
Chance had insisted that they do things his way. He knew what he wanted, and he always went after it. When Stella had protested, heâd told her that he wasnât interested in her opinion. Then heâd said goodbye and hung up. If heâd been anyone else, Stella would have seen that as rude, but Chance was never rude. He was almost never wrong, and Stella had been just tired and distraught enough to let things go his way without a fight.
He hadnât gloated, hadnât pointed out that heâd finally won one of their many arguments. Heâd just emailed notes for the meeting, told her that heâd update her on a few potential clients and asked if there was anything she needed him to bring when he came.