ONE

      It was a flash of deep red silk that first caught naval commander Leo Darius’s attention, followed by a gust of humid air seeping in through one of the balcony doors of the Thousand Islands castle. His steel-gray eyes rose. Their intense gaze cut through the crowded ballroom. But he barely managed to catch a glimpse of the petite, dark-haired woman as she slipped out through the curtains and onto one of the historical building’s stone balconies. There’d been no mistaking the outline of a weapons holster strapped to her leg, underneath the folds of her long crimson gown. She was beautiful and dangerous.

      But was she carrying the vital military secrets he was there to intercept?

      Leo’s six-foot frame straightened almost to attention, filling out the crisp lines of his naval dress uniform. He strode across the ballroom, through the flashing cameras, clinking glasses and babble of small talk that filled the room like the thrum of summer bees. A prayer filled his heart. Please let this handoff go quickly and smoothly. A whole lot of lives are counting on me.

      It was hard to imagine a mission or battle that was more different to what he was used to. The decorated naval officer had dedicated his life to taking out violent pirates and smugglers on dangerous waters, until the death of his estranged wife, Marisa, had forced him home to raise their two daughters. He’d never expected to be attending events like these, even if it was just as a cover. The weeklong international symposium was supposed to be about celebrating cooperation and hope. Yet, somewhere in all the glitz and glamour was an informant who claimed to be carrying proof that corrupt elements within Canada’s own navy had been cooperating with drug smugglers in the North Sea. Leo’s mission was simple: find the informant, get the data and analyze whether it was true. He hoped the dazzling stranger was the person he was there to meet. Although he couldn’t imagine what kind of woman wore a weapon with evening wear.

      “Commander Darius, right?” A male voice with an Irish accent made Leo stop. He turned. Two men stood behind him, both of whom he recognized from the press coverage surrounding the event. The Irishman Killian Lynch was a former wrestling champion turned celebrity journalist. He was in his early thirties, with horn-rimmed glasses perched just above a slight dent on the bridge of an otherwise long and straight nose. The other, Nigel Blackwell, was English, heavier set and an actor who specialized in period dramas. Both men were rising stars and came from countries whose navy patrolled the North Sea.

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Leo shook their hands in turn and exchanged brief introductions. The threat potential of this intel was so high that no one but his own admiral knew of his mission. As far as the gathered guests were concerned Leo was just another delegate. It was a good cover and one that no one would question. Leo was a decorated hero and widower with a picture-perfect family. Not to mention the ability to lock his thoughts and feelings away like a steel trap.

      “I’ve noticed you haven’t signed up to take part in the charity auction on Saturday.” Nigel’s voice boomed with a hint of a chuckle that Leo suspected was practiced. “I will be serving as auctioneer and all the money raised will go to an international charity that builds children’s hospitals around the world. I do hope we can count on you.”

      “Absolutely,” Leo said. “Put me down for a meal at one of Ottawa’s top restaurants, followed by tickets to the theater.” A quick call to the tourism office should sort that quickly enough.

      Nigel seemed satisfied with that and wandered off to the dessert table, leaving Leo alone with the Irish journalist.

      “I’m surprised you didn’t suggest something involving your family,” Killian said. “The media are always so eager to get their hands on anything to do with children. Those are your girls, correct?”

      Killian gestured to a banner hanging beside the stage. Leo followed his gaze. There alongside banners of the other delegates was a picture of Ivy and Eve, running with him beside the Ottawa River. Blonde and pigtailed, eight-year-old Eve practically bounded off the canvas. But the cautious look in twelve-year-old Ivy’s green eyes mirrored the one Leo could feel seeping into his own.

      “Yup, they’re the genuine article,” Leo said. “But I’m afraid the only event they’re taking part in is the parade on Friday.” They’d be on a float beside him, visible but protected. Although if all went according to plan the mission would be over by then and he’d be able to skip the rest of the week’s events. “Enjoy your evening.”

      Leo continued across the floor. The curtains billowed slightly. The woman in crimson was still standing on the balcony. She was barely five foot tall, with the lithe build of an athlete and dark, luminous eyes that almost seemed to be looking right at him. Leo felt a hand on his shoulder and realized Killian had followed him.

      “Excuse me, Commander,” Killian said. “Apologies for being direct, but I don’t think you realize the situation you’re in.”

      “And what situation would that be?”

      “Clearly you’re new to the spotlight.” The Irishman’s smile was thin. “But there’s been a lot of media attention on this conference and the delegates. I put out a call on my website for tips and received several requests for stories about you. Some of them raised the issue of your family situation. I’d be happy to share with you what I’ve received and even give you an opportunity to review it for your reaction—”

      “I don’t care about rumors, and I don’t read gossip,” Leo cut him off. “Marisa was an incredible mother. She passed away unexpectedly last summer from an invasive, malignant cancer. My daughters miss her terribly. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

      He turned on his heels and strode off. The sooner this mission was over the better. He wasn’t cut out for the spotlight. While he didn’t know for certain what kind of dirt the man had thought he’d found, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone did the math and realized Ivy had been the result of a teenage pregnancy. Leo had been an emotionally switched off eighteen-year-old, when he’d had a brief relationship with a straight-A student named Marisa, who’d been blinded by a superficial crush on what she imagined might lie beneath his very private shell. The relationship had been a total mistake. Her attraction to him had quickly faded, but not before Ivy was conceived. He’d proposed marriage and joined the navy to support her and the baby. It had been the right decision and one he’d never doubted, even after it had become clear Marisa would never be in love with him. They’d been quietly estranged for years, despite the brief and failed attempt to rekindle a relationship that had resulted in Eve. But the girls had come first. Marisa had been a very protective mother. He wasn’t about to let his past become tabloid fodder now.

      Meeting his informant and getting the intel safely was all that mattered.

      Leo reached the balcony and slid the door open just in time to see the woman in red hop up onto the balcony railing.

      “Stop!” He shut the door quickly behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      She turned and looked at him, her stiletto shoes still a hairbreadth away from the ledge. Wind tossed her black hair around her heart-shaped face. A curious smile turned at the corner of her lips. “Don’t worry, Commander. I’m Zoe Dean. It’s only about an eight-foot drop and the lawn is pretty soft, especially after the rain. Please, just go back to the party.”

      Everything about this picture was wrong. She said her name like it should mean something to him, but it didn’t, and while he did know someone with the Dean family name, it was the tall, blond linebacker-type who